


Tale As Old As Time

by facewithoutheart



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Beauty and the Beast Elements, Enemies to Lovers, Fairy Tale Curses, First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, POV Alternating, Pining, The Mage (Simon Snow) is an Asshole, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Is Bad at Feelings, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Is Gay for Simon Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:08:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27367066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/facewithoutheart/pseuds/facewithoutheart
Summary: Simon Snow wants to read books and take care of his adopted mom and her goats, even though he hates the small town of Watford where he lives (except for the Bookseller). Then, Watford’s mayor threatens Ebb’s life— all to build a strip mall.So Simon does what any strapping young lad would do: visit the nearest haunted castle in hopes of finding someone who can help him save Ebb’s farm. Too bad it’s owned by a cursed prince who wants nothing to do with true love or Simon’s obsession with sour cherry scones. Or does he?Snowbaz, but make it Beauty and the Beast (while managing to poke friendly fun at both). I should say, this is more inspired by Beauty and the Beast rather than a reimagination of it. Contains as many references to the Disney animated version songs as I could force myself to add. Many fourth wall breeches. Plenty of fan service. I’m not even going to try to be British, so I made the inconsistencies part of the plot. And, because why not, there’s one Mean Girls reference. I’m as emotionally constipated as Baz, so the jokes vs feels ratio errors very strongly on the jokes side. But there are some feels, I swear.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 19
Kudos: 54





	1. PROLOGUE

While our world has long been without widespread magic, there are certain enchantments which still hold power. For a young prince, this was a lesson learned in tragedy.

He lived in a Victorian mansion, although uncultured eyes might believe it to be a Gothic castle. Love filled his childhood until the loss of his mother at the hands of a home invasion left him paranoid and sorrowful.

But, enchantresses rarely make time to unpack tragic backstories before passing judgement onto unsuspecting strangers. 

One such enchantress visited the prince’s house in the guise of a beggar one cold, winter’s night. When the prince was understandably weary about allowing a complete stranger in for a nice cup of tea, she revealed herself to be a beautiful enchantress. If she had done a little more research before blundering up to his house demanding courtesy, she might have chosen the form of a handsome sorcerer instead. But anyways.

The prince apologized for his attitude, which he could admit was ruder than strictly necessary. But the enchantress was not swayed by his half-hearted apology (he still wouldn’t let her in the door, because having magic doesn’t make strangers inherently more trustworthy. Less so, more likely). For his pride and his paranoia, she cursed him and the other inhabitants of the house.

When the prince loudly argued that it seemed unfair to punish his servants and family for merely being witness to his so-called mistake, she silenced him, and explained his punishment.

Finding some poetic justice in contradictions, she cursed him into a vampire. He would hunger, but not for food. He would be forever cold, but could perish by flame. And, just for fun, he would be completely unable to communicate his emotions except through sarcasm and insults (which, honestly, wasn’t too far off from his existing personality, but the enchantress liked the idea of him not having a choice in the matter). 

As for the inhabitants of his home, they all became household furniture for some reason. The enchantress really did want that cup of tea, and was having a hard time focusing on anything else to find a more clever punishment for his servants. 

Due to Section 42B of the Magical Guidelines and Policies, as a curser the enchantress was required to give the cursee (aka the prince) a way to lift the curse. So, using a common trope of curses, she told him only true love’s kiss would break the spell. Then, as was standard practice, she left him an enchanted rose as a countdown, so that when the last petal from the rose fell, the spell would become permanent.

Ashamed of his monstrous form, the Vampire concealed himself within the grounds of his mansion. As the years passed, the prince fell further into despair and lost all hope. For who could ever learn to love a Vampire? Besides every teenage girl on the CW.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No magic mirror in this one, ladies and gents. Also, I love the idea of 11-year-old Baz cursing out a strange witch for threatening his servants.


	2. This Provincial Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Simon, Rhys, Gareth, Penny, The Mage, Premal, and Ebb. Simon is 20, but he’s still a child in my book. The Mage is an asshole (duh). Penny has slightly ulterior motives. Also does the fourth wall exist? Time will tell.

**SIMON**

Since I moved to this small village six months ago, every day is like the one before. I start my morning off with a walk around town. I don’t know why it soothes me; I see the same sights every time, and, while the inhabitants wave to me, I know they don’t like me very much. 

I’m trying to fix my bad first impression, but it hasn’t been going well. When I pass the butcher’s and the baker’s, Rhys and Gareth wave until I wave back, then they shoot me the middle finger. I guess that’s what I get for singing a song my first day in town about how provincial this whole town is (honestly, I don’t even know what provincial means, I just had the song stuck in my head from a movie I saw once).

The only local who likes me is Penny. She runs the bookstore. To hear me speak, you wouldn’t suspect me to be an avid reader (I have a stutter, and it gets worse when I’m nervous) (I’m always nervous). Still, the words come easily enough to my head. It’s the getting them out that trips me.

“Out for your morning walk, Simon?” Penny asks from the window of her bookstore.

“Y-yup,” I answer. 

Penny nods; she’s used to one word answers from me by now, and she nevers forces me to speak more than I have to. “I have some new books for you, if you’re interested.”

I follow her into the store. Even though I’m here every week, I always flash back to the first time I visited. Penny must have seen the awe on my face; I’d never seen an entire wall of books before. She took pity on me, helping me figure out which books I might like best. She even let me borrow them, since she knew I couldn’t afford to buy all of the books I wanted to read. 

“What genre do you want to try today?” Penny asks. “Non-fiction? Fantasy? Romance?” She winks at the last option, and I feel myself blush. I nod my head. 

“Romance?” She repeats, raising an eyebrow. I nod harder. “That’s a new one for you.” I shrug my shoulders, as if to say, “Why not?” Penny smiles at me, and then climbs a ladder built into the wall. She swings it effortlessly to a section of the back wall where the book spines are all sorts of pastel colors, and begins piling some into her arms.

When she dismounts, I can see she has six books selected for me. “Will this be enough for the week?” I cock my head to the side, thinking about it. Then I nod. I pull my wallet out to pay, but she waves it away. “You know your money’s no good here.” 

I frown, and take a deep breath. Sometimes, if I take a second or two before talking, I can get my words out easier. “B-but why?”

Putting her hands on her hips, “You know why! Simon, if you bought every book you read, you’d put Ebb in debt for years.” She shakes her head of curly red hair - she changes the color weekly, last week it was blue. “Plus, I need my fix of Ebb’s goat cheese.”

I beam at her generosity. Goat cheese for six books is an unfair trade, very much in my favor. “H-hu-how.” I close my eyes and breathe deeply. “How about s-some goat milk, t-too?”

Penny patiently waits for me to get my words out. She’s kind like that. “I’d love some goat milk, thank you Simon.” She says, putting her hand on my shoulder. I smile at my shoes. If everyone in this town was as good as Penny, maybe I wouldn’t hate it here so much.

Placing my books in a bag, Penny looks out her floor-to-ceiling windows. “Oh no, Simon. Here he comes.”

I follow her gaze to see the Mage walking by her store.  _ Please don’t come in, please don’t come in, _ I pray. He comes in.

“Simon my boy!” He says, clapping me on the back. I wince. “H-h-hello.” I reply. He taps his toes impatiently while I form the word. “Yes, yes, come with me,” He waves, as if I don’t have a choice. He ignores Penny completely, making her cross her arms and huff. I give her my best apologetic face, and then follow him.

I dislike the Mage, but he’s the Mayor of the town and I don’t want to cause Ebb any trouble. I don’t know why he’s taken such a liking to me, especially when the rest of the town seems determined to hate me (except Penny and Ebb, of course). He keeps pushing me to go hunting with him (I hate the idea of killing animals) or have a beer in the Pub with him and his men (I think it’s a little weird that he has a trio of men who follow him around) (plus he’s the last person with whom I’d enjoy having a beer).

He enters the Pub to a resounding welcome, and he raises his arm in acknowledgement of his (seemingly) adoring fans. Then they break out into a song about how good the Mage is at spitting? It’s weird. This town is weird. 

“Simon, sit down.” The Mage gestures to his regular booth.

As soon as I sit, we’re joined by Premal, one of his three followers. “No, Premal. I don’t need you for this.” He waves Premal away, and for a second I almost feel sorry for him. Almost. He’s a real tool.

“So,” The Mage says, leaning his elbows on the table. “Simon.”

I nod.

“You know, you’ve been very resilient to my requests for your company.”

I stare.

“You’ve been in town for several months now, and I think it’s time we discuss your future.”

I lean back, and wait for him to get to the point. Like most conversations with the Mage, it’s one-sided.

“Simon, what are your thoughts on strip malls?”

Honestly, if I had a list of all of the things I thought the Mage might ever ask me, this question wouldn’t have broken the top 1,000,000.

“S-st-str-” I start, before he interrupts me.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” He says, because he’s a complete asshole, and he doesn’t even have the audacity to look at me during his insult. “Yes, strip malls. You see, our little town of Watford is about to be alongside a major highway development. It’s time to start making movements to monetize our soon-to-be desirable location. And,” Here he finally looks at me (yeah, that’s right, jerk, I’m a part of this conversation, too). “Well. You see, Ebb’s Farm is right in the perfect spot for a strip mall.”

Oh.

He leans back. “Of course, as Ebb’s son, even her adopted one, you’ll inherit the farm some day. However, I fear that day might not come as soon as I hope. If you could, say, convince her that this is a good opportunity, I’d assure you a hefty commission. Plenty of money to fund your  _ book _ habit.” He says the word ‘book’ like it’s dirty.

While I think the only thing dirty in the Pub is him, I don’t want to seem rude. I inhale. “I-I’ll th-th-thi-think ab-b-bout it.” I exhale. Before I finish my sentence, he’s standing up.

“See to it that you do,” He warns. “I’ll be expecting your answer soon.”

I can tell I’m dismissed, so I join him in standing up, then walk out the door.

My head spins the whole walk home. What am I going to say to Ebb? I don’t want her to sell the farm. I love it too much, and I know she does too. But something about the way the Mage said, “as soon as I hope” as if he’s given considerable thought to Ebb being... Well. I don’t want to think about what he’d implied, not when I’ve just recently found her.

I try to push these thoughts out of my head by doing chores. Although, caring for the goats isn’t really a chore because I enjoy it too much. I’d like to think I love all of Ebb’s goats evenly, but there’s one goat in particular that gets my special attention. It’s the goat who brought me to Ebb. You’d have thought that my rescuing it from being lost would have endeared me to it somewhat, but that little bastard always headbutts me upon sight. Still, it’s the only goat that will let me really cuddle it. Sometimes. When it wants to.

Feeling my spirits slightly buoyed by the work and goat-company, I head inside and upstairs to my room to wash up for dinner. When I hear the front door open, I remember what I have to do. My mind fills with fog and fear as I head downstairs. But when I see Ebb, my heart lightens a little. Even though she’s crying, as per usual.

People think Ebb’s crazy because she cries a lot, but I think she just feels too deeply. Seems a shame to fault someone for having strong emotions, even if it does mean we go through a tissue box a day.

When I meet her in the kitchen, I ask, “Wh-what’s wrong, Ebb?” My words always flow easier with her.

She sighs, placing a bag on the counter. “They were all out of cherry scones.” Cherry scones are my favorite, even though they always seem to be missing something.

“That’s o-ok. I like all sc-scones.” I beam at her, and she wraps her arms around me, crying even deeper now (though now I think it’s from relief).

She moves to set the table for dinner, and I help her. I don’t know why she feels such a pressure to give me everything I ask for. I’m happy enough with just her. She’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to a mom. Honestly, she might be better; I have nothing to compare it to. Growing up in foster care, I got used to feeling like a burden. Ebb never makes me feel that way, like I’m something she got stuck with. She treats me like a treasure. I’d never eat another scone again if it meant I could keep Ebb forever (although I really hope I don’t have to choose) (I really, really like scones).

As we sit down to eat, I remember my conversation with the Mage. I know I need to tell Ebb, but I’m afraid. Not just of what I have to say, but the mere fact I have to  _ say _ it. I wonder if it would be easier just to write it down.

After dinner, inspiration strikes and I run upstairs to grab my notebook. I’m not used to having things of my own, but the notebook was the first thing Ebb bought for me. Ebb said she used to have a notebook of her own growing up, and thought I might like one as well. I remember thinking it was the nicest thing anyone had ever done - think about what they liked, and share it with me.

I sit next to Ebb on the couch, and open my notebook.

_ I need to tell you something, but I think it would be too hard to say it. _ I write, and show my notebook to Ebb. 

Her eyes are already beginning to tear up. “Oh Simon, that’s so smart. What a clever way to communicate.” 

I smile, even though I know I’m not very smart. I keep writing.  _ I met with the Mage today. He says he wants me to convince you to sell your farm. _

“Oh,” Ebb says. She doesn’t seem too shocked by this news, and catches my own look of surprise. “Sorry, Simon. I tried to keep this from you. You’ve only been with me fully for six months, and I didn’t want you to fear being moved again.”

I look down at my feet, but she draws my chin gently up so that she’s looking directly at me. “Simon, I promise, with the farm, or without it, you’re staying with me. Only, I didn’t think it would be good for you if we moved so soon after you got here, and so I told the Mage no.”

I write,  _ It doesn’t sound like he accepted your answer. Ebb, it sounded like he was threatening you. _

“Hmm. I don’t know. I don’t trust the man, but I don’t think he’d resort to violence.” She cocks her head at me. “Do you?”

I look over at the wall, and think for a bit. Then I turn back to her. This seems too important to write down, so I stutter, “Y-yes. Ebb, I’m s-scared of him.”

She wraps her arms around me, and softly combs my curls with her hand. “Don’t worry, little goat. I’ve got you.”

But I don’t feel safe. Not yet.

\---  
  


The next morning, I skip my morning walk and head straight to Penny’s. She’s the smartest person I know, and I’m starting to think she may be my only hope to save Ebb and her farm.

I’m armed with my notebook, because it worked with Ebb, and I think it’ll work with Penny.

She’s standing in the doorway when I arrive, watching the other shops go through the motions of opening for the day. “Hiya Simon!” She waves. I wave back. “Are you finished with your books  _ already _ ?” She asks, eyes wide. I shake my head. 

Something in my face must betray my worry, so she steps back into her store. I follow, and, once I’m inside, she shuts the door behind us.

“What’s going on?” She asks.

I point at my notebook. She stares for a second, then nods. “It’s easier for you to write than talk, is it?” I nod - see? Smartest person I know. “Well come on, I’ll make us some tea.” I follow her up to the second floor.

I’ve never been in Penny’s apartment before. It’s cozy, and smells like sage. While she makes the tea, I take in the decorations. There’s photos all over the walls, mostly of her family. She’s got a ton of siblings, which I know from talking with her, but I’ve never met them (meeting new people is stressful when you can barely talk). Then, I realize I recognize one. Penny looks up as I gape.

“Oh yeah? Didn’t know I was related to Premal, did you?” She shakes her head. “I love the asshole, but I don’t get why he follows the Mage around like a puppy, him and those other two Magelets.”

I laugh at the term “Magelets”. Penny smiles back at me, with only a hint of sadness.

We sit at her kitchen table. “So, tell me what’s worrying you?”

I get out my notebook.  _ I think Ebb’s in danger. The Mage wants to buy her property to build a strip mall, and he mentioned how I inherit her property if anything happens to her. _

“Whoa, Simon. Right to the point.” She leans back, and sips her tea, appraising me. “Well, you’re not one to embellish, at least not in the time I’ve known you.” Sip. “And I think you’re right to assume the Mage might resort to underhanded tactics. It’s no secret he’s ruthless. You don’t become Mayor without ambition, and you don’t stay Mayor for ten years without some form of backhanded dealings. Well, you don’t when you’re  _ that _ unlikeable.”

I’d always wondered why people supported the Mage, and I’m both comforted and discomforted to learn people only like him because they fear him. 

Penny keeps looking at me like she’s deciding something. I sip my tea while she deliberates. Finally, she sets her cup down. “Simon, how much have you explored the town?”

I make an expression and wiggle my shoulders a bit. She seems to understand. “So not much?” I nod.

“This town has a bit of a secret.” Penny’s almost whispering, so I lean in. “The Mayor position is only an interim one. You see, there’s actually supposed to be a royal overseeing our town.”

I give her a confused look, she nods. “I know! It’s like, what century are we living in? What kind of random small town has a royal family? But the town bylaws are clear - our primary system of local government is a monarchy. Go figure. 

“However, our Queen died when her son was very young, and the rules of ascension dictate only her heir can rule in her place. So, even though she was married, her husband couldn’t become ruler.” I’m nodding along, but this all seems very complicated. “When she died, an interim Mayor - the Mage - was elected to rule until her son came of age. But then,” Here her voice drops even lower, “Her son was cursed.”

“C-cu-cursed?” I exclaim.

Penny nods. “By a passing enchantress. Really bizarre turn of events. Who ever hears of enchantresses cursing people anymore? Sounds like something out of a fairy tale, really. But there you have it. No one even knows how he was cursed; the prince locked himself, his servants, and his family away in their castle. Well, really a Victorian mansion, but still. He could have taken his rightful place at 18, but no one has seen or heard from him. Or those locked away in the castle with him. He must be almost 21, now.” She stares at Simon some more. “However, maybe you could convince the prince to become king, and stop the Mage from whatever he’s planning.”

If I really think about this, it’s a terrible idea. We could just sell the farm, move somewhere else, and live happily ever after. But, I’m starting to get the idea that the Mage is worse than an annoyance. And, while I don’t particularly like this town, and it doesn’t particularly like me, I hate the injustice of the whole town being stuck under his scheming, conniving thumb. Also, now that I’m letting myself think about it, I really don’t like strip malls. They are charm-less, and tacky.

I hug Penny, and she laughs. “What’s that for?”

“F-f-for b-being my f-friend. And f-for helping me s-s-s-save Ebb’s F-farm.” Wow, that took a lot out of me.

Penny pulls back and beams at me. “Simon! That’s the most you’ve ever said to me.”

I smile back, and she wraps her arms around me again. Going to this castle or whatever may be the stupidest idea I’ve ever had, but somehow, it’s what I feel compelled to do.

**PENNY**

That stupid, wonderful bastard is going to play the hero. The day I met Simon, I wondered if he might be the one. Something about him shouts “protagonist” even if he himself rarely speaks at all. Just the way he walks through the village, head in the clouds like he’s in his own world, sharing his inner monologue with some nameless third party who’s reading along (kind of like I’m doing right now), rooting for him to overcome whatever obstacle is in front of him. Rooting for him to save the day.

Of course, I’ve heard the stories of what happens up at Castle Pitch. The animals that disappear, only to be found later, drained of all their blood. I know I should have told Simon. I know that.

But I also know what’s at stake. I know about the servants who used to live in the village, who went to work one day and never came back, even though no one talks about it. Seriously, this village is super weird. 

And I’ve heard rumors about the curse. It sounds like something straight out of a novel (one I probably couldn’t even sell because it’s simultaneously too outlandish and too predictable - both far-fetched and derivative).

Yes, Simon Snow is planning to save the day. Someone needs to, and I know it can’t be me. 

I can only hope I won’t regret my part in all of this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodbye, fourth wall. We hardly knew you. “Belle” is my favorite song from Beauty and The Beast, but damn - she really does walk through the town insulting her neighbors. Hope you don’t mind the pretty obvious plot explanations; it’s a shame there’s not more Penny in this story so far, but don’t we all just want to skip to the part where Simon meets Baz? No? Just me?


	3. Meet-Cute: Kidnapping Edition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What century are we in? Meet Baz, Agatha (with mentions of Dev and Niall). Simon finally gets to babble. Baz is Extra as fuck. How many different ways can he call Simon an idiot? Also: cue pining. Apologies to Agatha fans; she deserves better than what I’ve done to her.

**BAZ**

Six months ago, the petals began to wilt. I knew this would happen someday, but a small part of me that still had hope clung to the idea that maybe, just maybe, luck might be on my side for once.

But of course it isn’t. When have I ever had luck? Certainly not when my mother was killed. Definitely not the day that magical Jehovah’s Witness came and stole my childhood (and the lives of my servants. Seriously, who does that? Who curses someone AND the people who work for them? No one good, and that’s the truth).

Against all odds (and luck), I’m the bad guy in this story. I didn’t trust a stranger (come on, stranger danger? _I was eleven years old!_ ), and now I’m a vampire who has to find true love to become human again. Sounds like a bad soap opera plot. Or like one of those CW shows, but who even watches those anymore?

Even without a curse, finding true love was going to be a challenge for a queer boy in the world’s smallest village. I’m supposed to be ruling this village, but I can’t even find the reasoning for it to exist. Like, what’s it’s main export? Why do we have butchers and goat farms, but also a major highway being built next to it? In what century is this story even taking place? And are we English? American? I mean, I like tea, but I say asshole instead of arsehole. I’m pretty confused by the whole thing.

Then again, part of my curse is being sarcastic, so maybe all of these contradictions are just side effects of my curse. I should probably spend more time worrying about finding true love so I can stop sucking the blood out of cute little woodland creatures rather than figuring out if it’s more anachronistic to mention I have a Netflix account or a dungeon.

I’d ask Dev and Niall but they’re still bitter about being turned into a clock and a candlestick, respectively, and they have little patience for my consistency error complaints.

So, I do what I do on any given day in my castle. I watch my rose wilt, and I wait for true love to find me. It’s completely and totally self-destructive, but that’s my brand.

**SIMON**

When Ebb falls asleep, I sneak out of the house. I’m wearing a warm cloak, because it’s just now starting to get cold at night. I’ve also grabbed a bag of scones for the road. Come to think of it, I should probably bring water too. Water might be slightly more important than scones (only slightly).

I head to the stables, where my trusty steed Agatha is waiting. Well, somewhat trusty. As horses go, she’s a wonder to look at. She’s completely white, with a soft cornsilk mane, and not a spot on her (I’m covered in spots, freckles and moles, so I notice these things). While she’s very graceful, she’s also somewhat skittish. She doesn’t like a lot of affection from me, and she tends to run from the first sight of danger. But even though she runs away, she always comes back (just when things are much, much calmer).

I saddle her, to her obvious disdain, and then mount her. Which sounds weird, but I don’t think about it too closely.

Penny gave me instructions on how to get to what she called “Castle Pitch”. It’s the dead of night, but the full moon is out so I can see the road well enough. I follow the signs, and while there are definitely some animal noises that spook Agatha, I make it to the gates of the castle with little incident.

I jump off Agatha, and go to open the castle gates. The rust on the hinges is obvious and they creak with disuse. I move to enter the gates, when I hear the crunch of a twig somewhere in the woods behind me. Ignoring common sense, and Agatha’s sudden flightiness (which always precedes danger), I turn back into the woods.

I’m not the most subtle, so when I catch a man in the woods unawares, I’m not sure who’s more surprised: me or him. 

Actually, the most surprised party has to be the rabbit, since it’s the one with a set of fangs stuck in its neck.

I turn sharply around, with the aim to run, but the man is much quicker than me. He grabs me by the waist and throws me over his shoulder (whoa, he’s really strong). 

“Goddamnit, you stupid, stupid man,” He says, hauling me toward the castle. “Now you’ve gone and done it. You couldn’t have just ignored the strange sounds in the woods. No, like a complete and total dunce you had to investigate. Well, you’ve discovered my secret. Little good it’ll do you because now that you know, you can never leave the castle. You are officially my prisoner.”

I stay silent, because that’s what I’m good at. My head is spinning, and I’m not sure if it’s just because I’m hanging over his shoulder and all of the blood is rushing to my head.

Secret? Prisoner? What just happened to me?

I do take a second to look at the gates before we disappear into the doors of the castle. Yup, Agatha’s gone. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised by that.

**BAZ**

Of course, the world’s most gorgeous man had to stumble upon me when I’m fangs deep in Thumper’s neck. Find true love, Baz. It’ll break the curse, Baz. Don’t worry, the first time you meet someone even remotely attractive, you’re going to kidnap him and threaten his freedom so you can keep your secret. Remember what I said about luck? I don’t even think I could recognize it at this point, that’s how long I’ve been without it.

As I carry this beautiful stranger up to my dungeon, part of me wonders if I’d have done something equally stupid even without the curse.

**SIMON**

“Come along, idiot,” The man/creature says, as if I have a choice. He’s still got me slung over his shoulder as he winds our way up a spiral staircase. “Up to the dungeon with you.” 

I have so many questions. Why is he narrating his actions to me? How in the world is he still carrying me? And what kind of person has a dungeon in their mansion? Or is it a castle? I can’t figure it out.

So, naturally, I break my silence to ask “Is this a mansion or a castle?” And then I instantly turn bright red (I mean, I can’t see myself, but based on how hot my face feels, I know I must be tomato levels of flushed). 

I can’t believe I didn’t stammer.

**BAZ**

What kind of question is that? How are these his first words to me? Why does it matter if my house is a mansion or a castle? (Maybe it’s both) (Can it be both?). 

“It’s both?” Candlesticks, is his stupidity contagious? “Does it matter?”

“I guess not,” He replies. “I’m getting dizzy though, from all the hanging upside down. Are we almost there?”

I groan. “Yes, you unbelievable moron. I have almost finished kidnapping you.” Feather dusters and armoires, how is he not more put out by this whole chain of events?

**SIMON**

I’d probably be more flummoxed by the whole getting kidnapped thing if I hadn’t just stopped stuttering for the first time in my life. Now that my mouth has finally caught up to my brain, I can’t stop saying the things I’d normally hold inside.

“You’re really strong, by the way. How are you not out of breath?” He doesn’t reply, which, for once, doesn’t bother me. I’m more than happy to keep up my one-sided verbal onslaught. 

“Do you live here alone? Are you the Pitch this castle-mansion is named after? Did you happen to bring my scones? Or, I guess Agatha took off with them. Agatha’s my horse. She’s pretty, but she hates danger. Which I guess I’m in, so it makes sense she’s taken off. Although, I’m kind of sad about the scones. I really like scones.” I realize I need to take a breath. I’ve never talked so much I’ve run out of breath before. This is fun. Except for the dungeon part. About that. “So we’re getting close to the dungeon, right?”

His steps cease. We must be at the top of the stairs, although I can’t see anything. “Can you see anything? Are we in a tower now? Is the dungeon in a tower? It’s kind of weird your castle-mansion has a tower Doesn’t seem like it’d fit the aesthetic. Is it Victorian or Gothic? Penny told me, but I’ve already forgotten.”

I hear the creak of a door open, and I’m unceremoniously ripped off his shoulder and shoved inside.

“Ouch! You could have put me down more gently.” 

Finally, he laughs. “I’m sorry I injured you while kidnapping you.” 

I laugh at that, too. I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic, or an ass. Or both. I know I should be more distraught, but I’m just so ecstatic about being able to talk.

**BAZ**

This glorious imbecile can’t stop talking.

“You know, I haven’t spent a lot of time imagining dungeons but I’d have to say this is exactly what I’d expect of one. Not that I can see much of it, but I think that might be a pretty essential dungeon trait. Darkness, that is.” He takes a breath. _Finally_. “You don’t talk a lot, do you?”

“No,” I reply, standing off to the side. He’s still jabbering about something, but I tune him out so I can admire him properly. He may not be able to see me, but one benefit to being a vampire (there are actually some benefits) is that I have better than average night vision. He’s covered in freckles and, sweet tablecloths, are there moles on his neck? And why is my first reaction to that discovery a desire to lick them? I always knew I was disturbed, but I’m learning there are depths to my depravity that would have scared me yesterday. 

He’s got this delectable mop of curly bronze hair, and I can already imagine how soft it might feel on my fingertips. He’s leaning back on his elbows, and the broad sweep of his shoulders is positively sinful. Seriously, the beauty of this boy is a crime. A crime against my cold, lonely heart. I tune back into his babble.

“...seems a shame I can’t see the moon from up here. I guess dungeons don’t really come with windows, huh?” Jumping coat racks, is he still talking about dungeon characteristics?

“Well, seeing as how you’re happy exploring the pros and cons of dungeon living, I’ll leave you to it.” I say, eager to get away from him (it’s a comfort knowing I can still lie to myself, curse or no curse).

“Wait! Don’t go.” I see him draw his knees up to his chest, and he says in an unbearably quiet voice. “I’m afraid of the dark.”

This should be the moment when my small, cold heart grows three times its size, and I carry him bridal style to a well-lit, cozy guest room. But I’m cursed (ask anyone), so I do only what I’m allowed to, and I push him away. “You’d better get used to it. You’ll be alone here, in the dark, for a very long time.”

The soft whimper he exhales threatens to break me. But instead of throwing myself down the stairs like I deserve, I walk slowly to my own well-lit room. The only comfort I have is in knowing that, as cold as he will be tonight, so will I. Cursed, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JUST TAKE HIM IN YOUR ARMS, BAZ! You know you want to! Ah hem. Sorry for the outburst. Also, Simon babbling is a mood. And if you haven't figured it out by now, castle-inhabitants curse in furniture. I try not to repeat them but I may slip here and then.


	4. Needs More Butter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reality of Simon’s situation sets in, he has his first sour cherry scone (and insults them) (I know!). Baz levels up his dramatics. We finally meet the household staff. Malcolm is not pleased with his cursed form. Also, is it bad manners not to drink tea that’s been poured out of someone’s head? Spoiler alert: Dev and Niall may be my favorite parts of this chapter.

**SIMON**

I wake up shivering. The novelty of being able to speak freely has long since faded, replaced with the cold and bitter knowledge that I am trapped in a dungeon by an evil creature who would leave me alone to waste away in a cell, forever. To add to my misery, I think about Ebb. Ebb who must be waking up to her own horrible realization: that I’m gone, and she has no idea how to find me.

I know I’m 20, and no longer a child, but Ebb knows how rough my upbringing was. She’d adopted me, even though there was no benefit to it, just to give me a glimpse of what having a home was like. And how have I repaid her? By setting off on a fool’s errand to save her farm, without even a note left behind. 

It’s now appearing more likely that the prince is dead, having become a very tasty meal to this creature. Which means there’s no one who can help take the village back from the Mage. No one to stop the devious means with which the Mage will try to take Ebb’s farm. I should have just convinced Ebb to sell the farm, and had us both run away. Damn the villagers of Watford left behind. It’s not like they deserve my saving them. 

As I spiral into my own self-loathing, I start to notice a familiar scent. I crawl to the front of my cage. Sitting within arms length of the bars, I see a plate of something. The sun has only just been able to peek through the small slits of the dungeon walls. But an errant ray catches on the plate and I see… are those… scones?

**BAZ**

I’m slowly learning the boundaries of my curse, because I never had the inclination to test it before. I can’t say kind things, but I can do them.

Ok, I should probably credit this discovery to Shepard. Especially since he’s the one trapped possibly-eternally as a feather duster (and I thought it was bad being a blood-sucking monster. Shepard has  _ allergies _ ).

Since I mentioned oh so casually over breakfast that I may have captured a handsome young man who may or may not be breaking down all of the walls I’ve built around my stony heart, Shepard’s been convinced he can help me, us, break the curse.

He’s even made me get out a notepad and pen so that we can keep diligent notes about just how nice I can be without triggering a stream of insults or sarcasm (so far, it’s not encouraging, but Shepard is practically bouncing with excitement) (watching a feather duster bounce is quite entertaining).

So, yes, it was Shepard’s idea that I could send up a tray of Cook Pritchard’s famous sour cherry scones as a peace offering. But it was my idea to lurk creepily in the corner to watch him eat them.

Which I am instantly regretting. The noises this boy makes while eating scones is sending all sorts of mixed signals to my body. On the one hand, it’s disgusting. On the other hand, I can’t stop visualizing him making those sounds in an entirely different context. 

**SIMON**

I don’t have the experience to make this statement accurately, but I’m pretty sure these scones are better than sex. 

**BAZ**

Ok, I’ve had enough. I’ve got to make myself known before I’ll have to slink back to my room in embarrassment due to trouser reasons.

“I didn’t think it was possible for anything to make me dislike Cook Pritchard’s sour cherry scones, but the disgusting way you eat them is enough to make me want to burn the recipe so no one will ever have to witness this horrifying display of animalistic manners.”

I hate myself.

**SIMON**

If I didn’t love these scones so much, I might be embarrassed by his insults. 

“Sorry. I told you, I really like scones.”

**BAZ**

Why is this spectacular fool apologizing to me?

**SIMON**

“...Wait. I told you I like scones. Did you, did you bring me scones, to be nice?”

“Absolutely not. I would never do such a thing.”

I squint out the bars of my cage, and slowly move forward. I can barely see his shadow.

“Step into the light and say that to my face,” I say. Part of me is inclined to disbelieve everything he says, and I wonder if seeing his face will help me put together the pieces of what is real and what isn’t.

“No, I quite prefer the shadows, thank you very much. Plus, you stink.”

I laugh. “I stink because you left me in a dungeon overnight!”

“Well, that’s your problem. My problem, the problem of not smelling you, is solved by keeping a respectable distance.”

**BAZ**

This isn’t true at all. Thanks to my vampire senses, I can smell him from here and he smells delicious. Like cinnamon and boy and scones and everything wonderful. If I could bottle his scent up, I’d drown in it. On purpose. Couches, I’ve got it bad.

“You know, these scones are almost perfect.”

My mouth drops open. “Almost? I’ll have you know those scones have been served in Castle Pitch for  _ decades _ . The recipe has been finely honed to perfection by  _ generations _ of Pritchards. Queens and foreign dignitaries have dined on those scones.  _ David Bowie himself _ ate those scones. Rumor has it he wrote “Under Pressure” because he didn’t have  _ enough _ sour cherry scones. And you, who has the manners of a rabid dog, thinks they could be improved? Please, you complete halfwit, enlighten me as to what might improve the scones that warranted Sir Kenneth Pritchard III an actual knighthood.”

Then, this superb disaster of a man shrugs his shoulders. “Could have used some butter on top.”

It’s official. I’m putting it in my planner and I’m sending out Save The Dates because tonight is the night I officially set myself on fire.

**SIMON**

Really, just a bit of butter on top (ok, a slathering of butter). I don’t understand why that’s such a terrible request. I like butter.

**BAZ**

And because I’m becoming the worst version of myself, I actually respond, “I’ll keep that in mind for next time.” I think the only reason the curse allows me that small bit of kindness is because I hate myself so much for saying it.

Then, because I’m a dramatic fuck, I immediately leave the dungeon. All that was missing was a good cape swish (if I keep acting this way, I may need to get one, just to match the level of Extra I’m delivering).

I stomp down the stairs and return to my bedroom, slamming the door behind me.

“Oi, are we doing the sulking teenager bit? Can I join?” Dev asks. He’s standing on the fireplace mantle, because it’s not easy to sit when you’re a clock.

“Shut up and tell me the time, since that’s all you’re good at.”

Dev scoffs. “You know perfectly well I haven’t told you the accurate time in years.”

“Out of spite, is that right? Don’t you technically tell the correct time twice a day? Isn’t that the age old joke? A broken clock, and all that.”

He grins, or whatever the clock equivalent of grinning is. I can’t explain it, you’ll just have to get your own anthropomorphized decor and test it out. “I suppose that’d be true of a normal broken clock, but I’m a spitefully broken one. I make sure to change the time arbitrarily so that doesn’t happen.”

I grin right back. “But if you don’t know what time it is, and you constantly change the time, don’t you think by some quirk of coincidence you might actually tell the correct time, occasionally?”

Dev looks so utterly confounded by my statement, that I almost feel bad. Until I remember that it would actually be nice to be able to tell the time every now and then.

Niall speaks up from my bedside table. “Are we done with the establishing friendship banter? Can we move on to the intervention?”

Clock-shrugging, Dev replies, “You’re the touchy feely emotional one. You tell me.”

“It is time.” Niall deadpans. Then all three of us laugh.

“Ok, get on with it. Bring me the guilt for leaving that utter mess locked in a dungeon.”

Niall sighs. “Baz, do you want to remain a vampire for the rest of your life? Cause I certainly don’t want to remain a candlestick.”

“Yeah,” Dev pipes up. “The wax gets everywhere.”

“Not to mention the fact that my face is somehow a part of the wax. Have you noticed that I haven’t lit my wicks since the first petal on your rose fell?”

I feel guilty. “No, I hadn’t noticed.”

Niall nods. “For years, my wax has dripped but my candles never shrink. But now that the petals have started dropping, I have nightmares where my face literally melts off me.” He shudders. “So I don’t light my wicks anymore. And you know I like lighting my wicks.”

“Yeah you do,” Dev teases.

“Shut your clockhole!” Niall yells back.

I groan. “So, back to the intervention?”

“Right,” Niall continues. “You never answered my question. Do you want to be a vampire forever?”

“Of course not,” I mutter.

“So why aren’t you making the most of this opportunity? There’s an attractive young man, your age even, who blundered into your castle, and could potentially be the one. And instead of wine-ing and dining him, you’ve stuck him in the dungeon.”

“Speaking of dungeons, have we ever established why the architects of Castle Pitch saw fit to include that detail?” Dev asks.

“Weird kink?” I answer.

“Guys! Focus!” Niall yells, rubbing his wax face with his wax arm. Unlit, of course.

I throw myself face down on my bed and groan. “Ugh!” I flip over. “I don’t want to be this way, Niall, but I have no choice. I can’t be kind to him. I can’t be kind to anyone!”

“Isn’t Shepard helping you figure that out? The lines you can balance to woo without wooing?”

“I guess. But what good is any of that? We don’t even know if he’s  _ gay _ . Coffee tables, I don’t even know his name!” I yell.

Niall blinks at me. “Well, yeah. Maybe the first step is figuring out his name.”

**DEV**

There’s a very good chance I’m going to be a clock forever. At least I know I can always start ticking. Baz hates when I tick.

**BAZ**

After my very unhelpful conversation with Dev and Niall, I head back to Shepard. At least he’s got some decent ideas, for a guy with feathers for a head (is that racist?).

He suggests sending Daphne and Mordelia up for some reconnaissance, which is proof that I am not paying Shepard enough (actually, I haven’t paid the servants in years. I wonder if that’ll come back to bite me. Probably no more than the fact I’ve possibly doomed them to an eternity as furniture due to my inability to flirt, apparently).

At least this way, the stranger will get some tea after having to sleep on the hard, dungeon floor.

**SIMON**

The roll of cart wheels wakes me from my post-scone slumber. I blink at the sunlight, which is starting to fill up the dungeon tower. Outside my cage is a serving cart, complete with an assortment of teas, a teapot, and a small chipped cup. 

It suddenly dawns on me that the teapot and cup are  _ blinking at me with actual faces. _

“Holy cow, are you real?”

“No, you moron. I’m fake,” The cup says.

I stare open-mouthed. “There’s a cup talking to me.”

“You poor dear, come have some tea,” The teapot says, making a sympathetic face. “Everything will seem better after you’ve had some tea.”

The teapot tips itself over, pouring some tea  _ from its head _ into the small cup. I try not to think about the implications here. 

“So, you gonna drink from me or what?” The cup asks.

Again, I gape. “Uh, that seems hardly proper. You sound like a child.”

“What if I am?” The cup asks, cheekily. I didn’t know a cup could be cheeky.

“Well, I’m not going to drink from a child!” I say, throwing my hands in the air.

Groaning, the cup replies, “Saucers, it’s a good thing you’re cute, because you’re also really, really dumb.”

I cock my head to the side. “You think I’m cute?”

The cup rolls its eyes. “Wow. I can’t believe that’s your takeaway from this. Seriously, drink this tea or I’m pouring it onto the floor.”

Finally, because it occurs to me I might be rude if I don’t listen to the cup (oh god I’m taking commands from a cup. A child-cup), I crawl over to the bars and reach my hand through, gripping the cup gently. I close my eyes, bring the cup to my mouth, and sip.

I feel so, so dirty. I set the cup back on the tray. “Satisfied?” I ask, and then instantly regret it. I suddenly long for the days when I used to stutter, which is something I never thought I’d miss.

The cup just stares me down, which, you know, is a fair response.

The teapot takes pity on me. “I’m Daphne, love. And what’s your name?”

“Simon. Simon Snow.”

The cup giggles. “That’s a stupid name.”

“Mordelia,” The teapot, I mean Daphne, scolds. “You’ve been saucy enough for one morning. Now, mind your manners.”

It’s now taking all of my willpower not to laugh at a teapot calling a teacup “saucy”.

“Simon, dear, would you mind telling me why our Baz has taken you prisoner?”

“Baz, is that his name?”

Daphne and Mordelia look at each other. “Oh my,” Daphne says. “It’s worse than we thought.”

“What’s worse than who thought?” I ask.

But, I’m starting to realize getting a straight answer to my questions is outside the realm of reality in Castle Pitch. Although, apparently, talking to dishware is inside the realm of reality. Go figure.

“It’s a long story, love, and I’m afraid it’s not ours to tell. But maybe you’d be willing to share yours?”

“Yeah! Tell us how Baz screwed up. Those are my favorite stories,” Mordelia smiles.

Daphne gives her a scolding (or scalding, hah) look that almost turns fond, then returns her gaze to me.

“Please, Simon. Go on.”

So, I do what I always do when I’m talking to kitchen objects. I start from the beginning.

**BAZ**

“What’s taking them so long?” I ask. I’m pacing the living room. It appears all of the household staff and family, save Daphne and Mordelia, have gathered in the living room. At least, the ones who find it easiest to move. As a stove, Cook Pritchard is literally stuck in the kitchen. And Fiona never leaves her bedroom. 

Dev and Niall just look at each other. They know better than to interrupt my fouler moods. The rest of the staff takes their cues from my two best friends. 

Shepard’s the only servant who isn’t afraid to speak up. “Well, maybe it’s a good thing it’s taking so long. Maybe they have a lot of nice things to say about you.”

I growl at him, and he shuts up.

Then, I hear the creak of the serving table wheels. I slink into a nearby chair, after first making sure it’s one of the normal pieces of furniture. Nothing insults a former butler like sitting on him without asking first.

I try to look as disinterested as possible in what Daphne and Mordelia have to say, and I know I’m utterly failing.

“His name’s Simon Snow, isn’t that ridiculous?” Mordelia asks.

I scoff. “That’s the stupidest name I’ve ever heard.” I’m lying. It’s lovely.  _ Simon Snow _ . I want to sing his name out loud. I want to write it, circled in hearts, on everything I own, like a smitten schoolgirl. Not that I ever went to school.

Daphne looks nervous and she’s not looking at me. “He says he came here to ask for help.” Now, she looks at me. “From the prince.”

“How could I possibly help that ape of a man?” I ask.

Clearing her throat, and looking anywhere but at the small four-legged footrest in the corner of the room, Daphne explains, “He wants the prince to take his rightful place as heir to the throne, because apparently the man elected as interim Mayor in the absence of a royal from our family is threatening to put up strip malls everywhere.”

I shudder at the thought of stepping into my “rightful” place. Also, at the idea of strip malls. I hate strip malls; they are tacky and cheap.

“Surely, now that he’s met me, he understands why I can’t do that.” I look around the room. “I’m a monster.”

Daphne tuts. “You’re not a monster, dear.”

“Yes, I am. By definition, a monster.” I continue before anyone else can disagree with me. “Besides, how is this my problem? Malcolm’s the one responsible for that asshole becoming mayor.”

Finally, the four-legged footrest speaks. “I’m your father, and you’ll speak to me with respect, Basilton.”

I roll my eyes. “Hard to command respect with those tufts and tassels, is it? Tell me, are all of the feet that rest on you clean, or are you starting to  _ enjoy _ the scent of dirty socks?”

“Basil, please,” Daphne pleads. 

I know it’s been a blow to my father’s ego becoming one of the more obsolete pieces of furniture in the house. Still, I can’t help but remember how he reacted when I first told him I was gay (you’d think becoming a piece of furniture whose sole purpose is for the resting of smelly feet would make you learn not to be judgmental about sexuality, but here we are). I can’t help but enjoy the little stabs I can get. Plus, I’m cursed to be emotionally incontinent. It’s in the small print.

I don’t apologize, but I don’t dig the knife in deeper (wouldn’t want to spill his stuffing).

“Well, I can’t help Snow.” I try to ignore the way every member of my staff and family seems to shrink at this statement. “And I can’t let him go, either. He… he saw me eat.”

I don’t miss the look of surprise on Daphne’s face. “Didn’t he tell you?” I ask.

She shakes her head. I can’t help but wonder what that means. Did he not see, or is he protecting my secret? The ice in my chest melts, slightly. Just enough to make one gesture (if the curse will let me).

“Dev, will you do me a favor? Will you release the stinking beast from the dungeon and get him settled into a guest room.” I grin, with an inspired idea. “Make sure it’s the one with Fiona. He’ll hate that.”

Dev smiles, because he knows what I mean. It’s the kindest cruel thing I can request. I don’t even have to look at Shepard to know he’s also smiling, while scribbling in his notebook. Although, I suppose Dev doesn’t  _ have  _ to put Simon in Fiona’s room, just because that was the only way I could offer him some comfort. Still, I hope he does, if only so my favorite Aunt can meet him. 

Perhaps the real curse is the hope I’m feeling. Because it’s certain to be false.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me you laughed at the Dev and Niall scenes. I cry laughing every time I re-read them, and it’d be nice to have someone join in my merriment. Also, Mordelia staring down Snow after he asks “Are you satisfied?” is one of my favorite Mordelia moments.


	5. Pride and Prejudice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dude, what’s my nationality? Simon brings back shrugs. Dev’s a secret softie. Gay panic. The entire castle has an eye roll disorder. Fiona flashes Simon. Baz finally steps into the light. And, because I hate myself and have no standards, Baz wears jeans.

**SIMON**

I hear the cart roll back to my cell, and, while I’m grateful for the company, I’m dreading Mordelia. That cup creeps me out.

However, there’s a new face on the cart. A clock one. A clock face that’s… letting me out of my cell?

“Oi, Snow, I’m taking you to a bedroom.”

I cock my head. “Are you British?”

He cocks his head back at me. “I dunno. Are you?”

I shrug. 

“Well, anyways, come along. Figure we can find you some better accommodations than this dingy cell.”

“What’s the catch?” I ask, although I’m not sure what catch would stop me from getting the hell out of this dungeon before the dark rolls back in.

“No catch,” The clock says. “Baz just figured that if you’re going to be around for awhile, you might as well be comfy.”

I scoff. “That does not sound like him at all.”

The clock grins (as much as a clock can grin, it’s actually hard to describe). “You’re right about that. I’m Dev, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Dev.” I move as if to reach my hand out for a greeting, then stop myself. “Um, I’m not sure how to shake your hand.”

Dev laughs. “Mordelia was right about you. You really are an idiot.”

I shrug again, a holdover from my stammering days. Old habits, and whatnot. Then, I follow the clock on the cart out of the dungeon (there’s a sentence I never thought I’d think).

The cart rambles down the stairs, and I’m amazed at how well Dev holds on.

“Do you all use that cart to get around?”

“Only if we want to get somewhere fast,” Dev shouts over the clank of the cart bouncing on the steps. “Sometimes if we’re desperate, Baz will carry us, but that’s pretty awkward.”

Nodding, “I can see that.”

On flat ground, the cart moves faster than I expected. I have to jog to keep up, making it difficult to catch the layout of the castle-mansion. Which is maybe the point. When I’m all good and turned around, Dev stops in front of a door. 

“Well, here you are.”

I open the door (can’t really expect a clock to do that for me). Inside is the most opulent room I’ve ever seen. There’s a huge bed, covered in soft-looking pillows. A desk is set up next to a window, which overlooks the castle-mansion gardens. There’s even a bookshelf! The only thing that bothers me is a weird looking armoire in the corner. It does not fit the decor at all. In fact, it’s all black, save for one streak of white down the front.

Dev seems to be looking anywhere but the armoire. He points to an interior door. “There is your own bathroom, complete with both a tub and a shower. We don’t have a spare television for this room, but Baz can probably get you a laptop and access to his Netflix account, if you want.”

I’m still listening, but I walk over to the bookshelf, running my fingers along the spines. Unlike Penny’s paperbacks, these are all leather. They must cost a fortune. As luck would have it, I’ve read none of these books.

“Do you like to read?” Dev asks.

I nod, “I love reading. I never had books growing up, so when I met Penny, she let me borrow as many as I wanted to. I always found it easier to read than, well.” I don’t finish my sentence. How can I explain to this stranger that I used to stutter everything I said, up until, oh, 12 hours ago or so?

When I look back at Dev, he’s got this weird look on his face (even weirder than the fact he’s a clock with a face). “Do you know Penny?” I ask.

“No,” He shakes his head. “Is she your girlfriend?” 

I laugh, “Oh no. She’s just a friend. She owns a bookshop in town. Actually, she’s the only friend I have in town. Or, had. I guess she won’t be my friend anymore. Since I’m stuck here, forever.”

I must sound sad or whatever, because Dev clears his throat and says something I never thought a clock would say to me. “I’ll be your friend, Simon. If you want.”

It’s touching, and I sit down on the bed to take it all in. I guess Ebb rubbed off on me more than I thought, because tears are building up in my eyes. Of course, now I’m thinking about Ebb so I start crying properly.

Dev hops onto the bed, and pats me on the back with his small ‘arms’. “There there,” He says, awkwardly. “I mean, I know it’s weird having a clock as your friend, but-”

“No,” I say, wiping my snot on my sleeve. “It’s just, I miss my mom, Ebb, and I miss Penny. And it was really nice of you to offer to be my friend. I’d like that, very much.”

“Oh god, Simon. You really are pathetic, aren’t you?” Dev says. But something in his tone makes me think it’s a compliment. He points at the bathroom. “Go clean yourself up. I’ll send some more staff in to say hi. By the end of the day, you’ll have plenty of friends.”

I sniffle and smile at him. “Thanks, Dev.”

He rolls his eyes, but he smiles back. Then, he hops back onto the cart, and rolls away. The door shuts behind him. And locks.

It’s bizarre having friends who lock you in your bedroom, but I suppose I could do worse.

**BAZ**

Dev comes tearing back from his assignment with a vengeance. “Baz, you have to invite Simon to dinner.”

“I will do no such thing!” I gasp.

“He’s lonely, and he’s sweet, and he’s  _ here _ . You already let him out of the dungeon; now, let him into your heart.”

“I cannot believe you just said something that corny.”

“I know!” He groans. “He’s insufferable. He just, like, eats away at your sarcasm and then worms his way right into your feels.” Dev sighs. “That’s why he’s got to be the one. Baz, he told me he missed his friends, and I told him  _ I’d _ be his friend.”

Dev and I stare at each other. I’ve  _ never _ known him to be that soft with anyone before. “Wow.”

Dev raises his eyebrows and nods. “See what I mean? If he can make me goey, imagine what he can do to you?”

There’s this small creeping sensation in my chest. Like the tiny kernel of hope I’ve kept despite all evidence indicating I should destroy it has started to grow. “What should I do?”

“I told you, Baz. Invite him to dinner! If he feigns orgasms eating scones, imagine what he’ll do with a full Pritchard meal?”

Well, when Dev puts it that way, I guess I’m inviting Simon Snow to dinner.

I walk over to Simon’s room, which is indeed the room with Fiona, and press my ear to the door. There’s no screaming, so I guess she hasn’t made her appearance yet. I knock quietly. When there’s no response, I knock louder. When there’s still no response, and because I’m an actual disaster, I start banging on the door and screaming, “Snow! What are you doing in there?”

Faintly, I hear, “I’m in the bath! What do you want?” There’s some splashing noises, followed by a thud. 

I gather that Simon’s getting out of the bath, and heading toward the door. Probably just in his towel. I gulp, trying desperately not to picture that (and, like all endeavors these days, failing).

When I hear the door jiggle, I panic. “Don’t come out!” I yell. 

“I couldn’t if I wanted to, it’s locked,” Simon says, from just the other side of the door (mostly naked, my cruel brain reminds me). 

I forget speech for a moment, until Simon reminds me why I’m pressed up against his door. “Did you want something, other than to ruin my bath? You did say I stunk, remember?”

I could never want to ruin his bath, unless joining him would ruin it. I shake my head, like he can see me, then finally answer, “Of course I remember, Snow. Are you sure you scrubbed properly? I can still smell you.”

Well, this is going fantastically.  _ Ace job, Baz. Top tier flirting. _

He sighs. “Again, I ask, do you want something?”

_ Oh, just you, all of you, forever and ever. _ “I wanted to tell you you’re joining me for dinner.”

Perfect. Commanding someone to eat with me has never gone wrong. Curtains, I’m such an asshole.

“Well, uh. No thank you, then.”

“No thank you? Did you hear me ask?”  _ Yeah, double down on the command. That’s smart. _

I hear movement on the other side of the door, and I can almost picture him in a fighting stance: with his broad shoulders (be still my heart) and his chin jutting out in defiance (oh, my loins). Maybe there’s a sword in his hand. Why not? It’s my fantasy.

“Then let me be more clear: there is no universe where I will ever join you for dinner,  _ Baz _ ,” He spits my name like a curse (and I should know).

“Well, then I guess you’ll just have to  _ starve _ ,” I spit back at him.

**SIMON**

What have I done? I love food too much to lose it, especially now. It’s all I have. Oh no, does this mean I won’t be getting scones for breakfast? I regret everything.

**BAZ**

I storm away from Simon’s door, and down the hallway. The servants poke their heads out, and I see their disappointment when they realize just how completely I’ve mucked this all up.

“I’m heading out!” I call. And no one reminds me that it’s still light outside. They’re too afraid to say anything at all.

**SIMON**

I’m sitting at the window when I see him for the first time. It’s just from behind, and I think it’s because of how angry I am that my heart stops. As he glides across the lawn, his long black hair flows behind him. For a brief moment, I wonder what it might be like to have those purposeful strides bring him toward me, instead of away. Like that scene in Pride and Prejudice where Darcy walks across a foggy moor. Why am I thinking about a romantic movie right now?

“He cuts a nice figure in retreat, doesn’t he?” A voice from behind me asks.

“Whoa, what the- who said that?” I exclaim.

“Oh, it’s just me, the armoire, of course,” It says. “Name’s Fiona. So, you’re the boy who’s going to break the curse?”

“The, the what?” I ask.

Suddenly, a face appears in the center of the armoire. And, because this is Castle Pitch, it rolls its eyes at me. “The curse! Forks and knives, are you really this stupid?”

“Why does everyone here insult my intelligence?” I whine.

“Because it’s obviously such an easy target, although now I regret my insults lack originality. I’ll have to find a more innovative angle.”

“Please don’t.”

“All right, dumb jokes it is.”

Now, _ I _ roll my eyes (this castle-mansion is getting to me). “Tell me about this curse.”

“You really don’t know?” Fiona asks.

“I really, really don’t.”

Fiona sighs. “Well, now I feel like I shouldn’t tell you. Especially since Baz has left the building for a while. You know what this means?”

I cross my arms. “I can absolutely assure you that I don’t.”

Again with the eye rolls. “Well, if Baz is outside, who’s stopping you from raiding the kitchen?”

My eyes open wide with delight. To my further excitement, I hear the bedroom door unlock, open, and reveal Daphne and Mordelia on the serving-cart-taxi. I’ve never been happier to see that weird kid cup. “Get in, loser.” Mordelia commands. “We’re getting food.”

**BAZ**

Despite being deep in the woods, I know what’s going on. I don’t even need my vampire hearing for this knowledge (actually, I wish I could turn it off so I wouldn’t have to hear Niall sing that awful song about hospitality) (I can assure you, the grey stuff is  _ not _ delicious). Still, it’s nice that the servants are getting along with Simon. At least he has someone to talk to, even though I desperately wish it were me.

Instead, I indulge a different terrible craving by sinking my teeth into two badgers and another rabbit. It’s only when I hear the singing stop and Simon’s snore begin that I go back into the house. By now, I’m shaking with cold but I refuse the jacket my coat rack offers me (I’ve forgotten his name, and by now it’s way too late to ask - “Hey, remember how my stranger danger got you turned into furniture for eternity? Crazy times. So, remind me of your name again?”). 

Because I’m a masochistic wreck, I head straight for the West Wing where I keep my enchanted rose (of course I don’t keep it in the  _ East _ Wing; what am I? An animal?) (Well…). Sure enough, another petal has fallen from the rose. I resist the urge to rip off every petal, just to spite fate. But I don’t. I curl up in the closest chair with full view to the rose, and I shiver myself to sleep.

**SIMON**

Sharing a bedroom with Fiona is not pleasant. She sings punk rock songs I don’t know (or enjoy) to wake me up. And if I complain, she switches to Morrissey, which is somehow worse (it’s just so sad, and it reminds me of someone but I don’t know who). 

Daphne, Mordelia, Dev and Niall have been helping me avoid Baz. They make sure I get as many scones as I want in the morning, plus plenty of butter (I was right, by the way. The scones alone are heaven, but they are properly orgasmic with butter). Then, they make sure I have a fresh round of books to read (although, they can never explain to me how they’ve selected them; it’s as if someone else has done that part). 

They also serve me lunch and dinner in my room, and one or more of them stick around to keep me company while I eat. So I’m rarely alone.

Still, I can’t help but feel lonely. And bored. I’ve only been at Castle Pitch for a week, but I’m going stir crazy. I’m desperate to stretch my legs. I’ve been doing exercises in my room, but it’s not enough. I miss my morning walks and fresh air. Fall is slowly turning into winter, and I want to be able to enjoy the outdoors before snow starts to fall. Which I suppose is a weird thing to want, because I’m Snow.

I try not to think about Ebb or Penny, and I’m doing ok with that. I’m used to not thinking about things. But the one thing I can’t stop thinking about is Baz. I guess it’s because he’s the only other human in the castle-mansion (well, I think he’s human). It can be a little disconcerting looking at anthropomorphized household items all day, no matter how friendly they are.

I’ve caught glimpses of Baz through my window when he takes his nightly walk, or whatever he does in the woods. He always seems so sad, but beautiful (is it strange to think a man is beautiful? Maybe not if it’s the truth.) 

I try to ask my new friends about what he’s doing out there, but they’re protective of him for whatever reason. They say, if I want to know these things, I should ask Baz. But asking Baz would require me to  _ talk _ to Baz. And I refuse to do that, even though I’m starting to wish he’d command me to have dinner with him again. Just so I’d have an excuse to say yes. Because he’d be forcing me, not because I’d want to. Even though there’s a part of me that wants to. Christ, I must really be lonely.

When Niall shows up with my new books, I push again, because I’ve learned Niall is a terrible liar. “How did you select these books, Niall?”

He shifts uncomfortably. “I dunno, I just liked the covers.”

He always says that. Today, I decide to call him on his bluff. 

“Really? Then how come they’re all different genres?”

“Coincidence?” He squeaks.

Uh huh. Sure. “Did Baz pick these out?” He doesn’t have to answer, I can read “yes” all over his waxy face. I sigh. “Will you do me a favor, Niall?”

He eyes me warily, but says, “Sure, Simon.”

“Will you tell Baz thank you, for me? Tell him I like the books he picks out for me. He’s really good at it.”

Niall gulps, then nods.

I really hope Baz doesn’t melt down Niall’s candlesticks out of spite.

**BAZ**

“I should melt down your candlesticks out of spite!” I scream at Niall.

“He just knew. I didn’t tell him, Baz. I swear.”

I groan. I never should have let Niall deliver the books. The man has no poker face.

“He doesn’t mind, Baz. He  _ thanked _ you. He said he likes the books you pick out.”

Sighing, “Why is he being so nice? I’ve locked him in a dungeon and sentenced him to starve to death.”

“Ok, but you also let him out of the dungeon.”

“Into a locked bedroom.”

“And you ‘conveniently’ don’t notice that we’re all feeding him.”

“Against my wishes.”

“Which we all know you meant for us to ignore. For fireplace’s sake, Baz, you’re letting him put butter on the sour cherry scones.”

I grimace at that one, and it’s definitely not because the image of Simon putting butter on sour cherry scones made its way into the filthy sex dream I had last night.

“Which he doesn’t know!” I shout. Then sigh, again (I’ve become a pining cliche). “What do you want me to  _ do _ , Niall?”

“Ask him to dinner again. Properly, this time.”

And because I am a spineless wreck, I cave. “Fine. But if he says yes, you’re helping me pick out my outfit.”

He groans. I know how picky I am about my wardrobe. That’ll be more punishment than melting down his sticks.

**SIMON**

There’s a knock on my door, and, while it’s about an hour before dinnertime so I’m not expecting company, I yell, “Come in!”

A throat clears, and then the door opens. I turn around, and there he is. Baz.

“Snow,” He says, just above a whisper.

I’ve never heard his voice like this before; he’s only ever yelled or growled at me. But this new voice is like a purr. Goosebumps rise on my arms.

He doesn’t move. He’s still standing in the hallway, face in the shadows.

“Baz,” I respond, realizing this is the first time I’ve ever said his name to his face. I can’t prove it, but I think he gulps.

“I’d like to invite you for dinner.”

I should say no. There’s no reason for me to have dinner with him. Someone from the staff will bring me food, stay with me, and they’ll actually be friendly. So why am I slowly walking toward him?

His shoulders stiffen. “What are you doing, Snow? Why are you walking toward me?”

I laugh. “Because it’s weird talking to someone who’s this far away.”

“I think this is close enough. Leave six feet for Jesus,” He clears his throat. “As they say.”

“Six feet? This is more like 20.”

“You are  _ terrible  _ at estimating distances. This is no more than 12 feet apart.”

“Ah hah! So it’s more than six feet, then?”

He groans. “Fine. You win. You can come within six feet of me. But no closer!”

My feet move slowly, because for some reason I feel the need to draw this out dramatically. With each step, more and more of his face comes into view. His hair is slicked back, revealing a sharp widow’s peak. His face could be cut from glass; it’s all sharp angles and edges. Almost perfect. The only imperfection on his face is a slight bend to his nose, and that subtle flaw makes him all the more beautiful. In this light, there’s no glimpse of the creature I saw that first night.

For some reason, I move my gaze from his nose to his mouth. Have I ever stared at someone’s mouth this intently before? His lips are pale, and slightly parted. I want to look away (do I?) but I can’t. Is he cursed to be irresistible? Is that why he hides away in the shadows, to protect me from his thrall?

I realize I’ve gone way too long without speaking. I finally look into his grey eyes. I’ve never seen eyes this color before. There’s something there, hidden just beneath the surface. An expression I should recognize, but I don’t. As soon as I see it, it disappears. 

“Well, Snow? Are you done memorizing my face? Can you please answer my very simple question, or do I need to dumb it down to a kindergarten level for you?” When I don’t respond immediately, he rolls his eyes. “You, me, dinner, yes?"

I think he’s trying to be mean, but I laugh anyways; I must be so starved for entertainment that I welcome his insults. I might have imagined it, but I think my laughter causes one corner of his lips to lift. “Yes,” I answer, despite my self-preservation instincts. “You, me, dinner.” 

This time, I don’t imagine it. Baz actually smiles. 

Because I’m good at not thinking about things, I absolutely do not think about how his smile makes me feel.

**FIONA**

What in the hell did I just witness? Plates and bowls, I’m going to have to make sure Simon dresses up for tonight. Candelabra, help me.

**SIMON**

When Baz leaves the room, Fiona opens her doors wide open.

“Warn a guy before you flash him, Fi.” I joke, half covering my eyes.

“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before. Or is it?” Fiona asks, raising her eyebrows suggestively.

I ignore the blush creeping over my face. “Shut up and tell me why your doors are open.”

“Because! If you’re having dinner with Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, you’re going to need to wear something fancier than those pajama bottoms.”

I stare at her, jaw dropping. “What did you say?”

Regret flashes over Fiona’s face, as much as an armoire can express regret. “He never told you his full name, did he.”

“Tyrannosaurus? Basilton? Did his parents hate him from birth? Is this why he’s got such a stick up his ass?”

“It’s Tyrannus, and it’s a family name given to him by my sister,” Fiona flares.

I shut up. “Sorry, Fi. I didn’t mean to poke fun.” From talking with Daphne, I know that Baz’ mother (Fiona’s sister) died when he was young, and that Daphne is his stepmom. I still have yet to meet Baz’ dad; apparently, he’s embarrassed about his cursed form, and hides from most people.

Fiona clears her throat. “It’s fine, you didn’t know. Now, pick out an outfit or I’m making you go to dinner nude.”

I rifle through my options, but a grey suit catches my attention. Something about the color that I find comforting. “This one,” I say, pulling out the hanger.

Clearly, Fiona’s pleased by my choice. “Yes,” She says. “That’s the one.” But strangely, she’s looking at me and not the suit when she says it.

**BAZ**

I can’t believe I only have an hour to get ready. There’s no way I can do this in time, even with both Dev and Niall helping. But I have to make this work. For Simon Snow.

**SIMON**

I’m fully dressed, but I’m not sure if I’m supposed to wait in my room, or head to the dining room. Fuck, I’m nervous. Why am I so nervous for dinner? I eat it every night, after all. It must be that I haven’t left my room in a week. That makes sense.

I’m about to pull my hair out and ruin the styling Fiona coached me through when there’s a soft knock at the door. I look over at Fiona, who gives me what she must think is a reassuring expression, but it’s more smirk than smile. Still, I’ll take it. I inhale deeply and open the door.

Baz is way closer than six feet this time, and now it’s me who wishes there were more distance between us, if only to take in his outfit fully. He’s wearing dark wash jeans that are practically molded onto him, and a slim fitting light blue sweater (I want to rub my hands all over the sweater, probably because it looks so soft).

“Baz, you’re wearing jeans!” I say, then instantly regret it. “I feel so overdressed, I should change-”

“No,” He stops me, placing his hand on my elbow. “Don’t. You look perfect.” A curious expression shows on his face, and then he looks down at his hand, removing it swiftly. “I mean, for a prisoner.”

For some reason, despite the barb, I feel sad at the loss of his hand contact, so I open my elbow up to him again. “Shall we?” I ask.

He looks at me for another second, then wraps his arm around mine. “Follow me,” He says. “After all,” His grey eyes twinkle, “You have no idea where the dining hall is. Right?”

I flush, and then I follow him.

**BAZ**

There’s no way I should have been able to tell Simon he looks perfect. Although he absolutely does. The way that gray suit sets off his blue eyes. How his shoulders perfectly fill out the suit jacket. I haven’t looked yet, but I can imagine that his ass looks positively godless in those trousers. I think he’s even styled his hair. It makes me want to mess it up.

Still, just because I think these things doesn’t mean I can say it. Not with my curse. I keep going through Shepard’s list of loopholes, and none of them apply. I wasn’t secretly thinking the opposite, or using my sarcastic-not sarcastic voice to try and confuse the curse. The only thing I can think of is that he didn’t want me to say it, and that’s why the curse allowed the compliment. 

Which I suppose makes sense. Simon is most likely straight, and clearly not interested. Plus, I mean, how common is Stockholm Syndrome, really?

So why did he look at me earlier like _ I  _ was the dinner he’d been invited to? Was it merely curiosity? The kernel of hope within me begs for attention. But I squash it. Hope, like luck, has no place in Castle Pitch. Not anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t intend to make Dev and Fiona so soft in this, but I like their squishy centers being more apparent. Also, I do truly hate myself for including the “Baz, you’re wearing jeans'' line. And sad ending is sad.


	6. Ask The Dishes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz and Simon have a short dinner, things get real, and it turns out being able to say what you think isn’t always a blessing. Lots of sighing. More sad times ahead.

**SIMON**

The dining hall looks different when it’s not the stage of an elaborate culinary cabaret. More subdued. Intimate, almost. 

Baz sits at one head of the table, and I take the other. Like always, he’s partly in shadow.

“You got your wish,” I say.

An expression spreads across Baz’ face that I can’t read (although I think it may be horror? That can’t be right). “What wish?”

I tilt my head to the side. “We’re definitely more than six feet apart.”

He seems to exhale, but it turns into a growl. After staring at me a moment, he motions to a side door. In scoots the ever present serving cart, complete with two covered dishes. He sends the trays to me first, and I pull one onto the table in front of me. Then, I wait for Baz to accept his. Baz lifts the silver dome from his plate and I follow suit. It’s roast beef, my favorite. 

I watch his movements to figure out which of the 17 pieces of silverware I’m supposed to use, and try desperately not to think about whether any of them had participated in last week’s synchronized swimming number during the welcome song Niall sang to me. The implications of licking mashed potatoes off Baz’ former kitchen staff is not what I want to take away from this evening.

Using the sharp knife to cut a piece of roast beef, I am definitely not thinking that the scrape of the blade against the plate is like a tiny scream. Then, I delicately place one piece of beef in my mouth.  _ I’m so sorry, fork-friend _ , I think.

Baz lifts one eyebrow. “You surprise me, Snow. From what I hear from my servants, you eat like an animal.”

I’m floored. “You know they’ve been feeding me?”

He sighs. “Well, you’re obviously not dead, so clearly  _ someone’s _ been feeding you.”

“But, I mean…”

“Right. Yes, I knew they were feeding you.”

Our silverware clinks in the silence. I guess it’s my turn to try. 

“I, uh, normally don’t use the silverware here.” I confess. “Because I’m afraid that they used to be people.”

At this, Baz laughs. The kind of laughter that shakes your shoulders and brings tears to your eyes. The sound is entrancing. Is that part of his curse, too? Even if the sound is cursed, I wish he laughed more often. I wouldn’t mind being hexed if it came with an all-access pass to that sound.

“Oh, Snow. I make sure that we only use the non-cursed silverware for dining.” He wipes at his eyes. “So that’s why my servants leave your room looking so traumatized? You’ve been eating with your hands?”

I rub my neck with one hand, embarrassed. “I mean, how was I supposed to know? Mordelia made me drink out of  _ her _ .”

He gapes. “You  _ drank _ out of Mordelia? But she’s a  _ child _ !”

I throw my hands in the air. “I don’t know the rules here! Maybe the cups and silverware  _ like _ being used. There’s no ‘Miss Manners’ for the appropriate use of teacups that used to be children.”

Baz throws his head back, laughing even harder now. I can feel the flush running up my neck. Eventually, I can’t help myself and I join him in laughing. When we finally settle down, I notice his hair is falling loosely around his face. I like it better this way. For once in the last week, I keep this thought to myself.

We’re smiling at each other, and there must be something on my face because Baz gets this weird look. “What, is there something on my face?” I ask.

Shaking his head, “No. I was just thinking, I don’t remember the last time I’ve laughed that hard.”

“Me either,” I admit. 

And, like he’s compelled to say it, he adds, “Don’t let it go to your head, Snow. You’re only funny because you’re such a simpleton”

This isn’t the first insult at the expense of my intelligence today. It’s probably not even the first insult in the past hour, but after the moment we just shared, it hurts nonetheless. We return to eating, and let the sounds of clinking fill the space once more. 

I figure if he’s going to ruin dinner with his jibes, I can ruin it with my questions. I set my silverware down (finally, without a hint of guilt over whether or not I’d handled it too roughly).

“Snow?” Baz asks, setting down his fork as well.

I clear my throat. “About the elephant in the room.”

“Which one?” He mutters, and I don’t know if I’m supposed to hear it.

“Did Daphne tell you why I came here?”

He nods. “You want me to help take down the Mage. To take my rightful place.” Picking his fork back up, “Obviously I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

A deep sigh escapes him. He drops his fork again, and leans back. After a pause, he motions to the side door again. “We’re going to need some wine.”

**BAZ**

When the cart returns with an open bottle and two glasses, I grab the bottle (leaving the glasses) and motion for Simon to follow me. He looks with regret at the morsels of food remaining on his plate, but he gets up regardless.

I don’t know why I can’t just tell him about the curse over the dinner table. Why I feel like I need to show him my enchanted rose. I do know why I need the wine, though; that much is clear. I take a sip from the bottle, and pass it to Simon, who’s right behind me. I hear him hesitate, then gulp. 

We get to the West Wing, and I throw open the door. The rose is sitting on a table next to an open window, glowing, because that’s what enchanted roses do. They glow, and they taunt me.

“Wow, it’s so beautiful.”

I scoff, and yank the bottle out of Simon’s hand, taking a deep swig. Swallow. “You wouldn’t think it was so beautiful if it was counting down the permanency of  _ your _ curse.”

The sweet moron that he is, Simon places a hand on the shoulder of his kidnapper (that’s me) in a comforting gesture. I shake it off, then pass him the bottle. He sips.

Sighing, I head out to the balcony, and lean over the edge. Simon comes up beside me, his arm gently pressed against mine.

“Thank you for showing that to me,” He says, almost in a whisper. “Do you want to tell me about the curse now?”

“No. Obviously not,” I say. “But I’m going to anyway.”

He places the bottle back in my hand, but I don’t drink. “Whenever you’re ready,” He says.

“I don’t know where to start,” I reply.

“Where else,” He asks, “But at the beginning?”

I take another swig, holding onto the bottle for now. “Well, I guess that would be when my mother died.” His hand is back on my shoulder. Because I’m weak, I leave it there. “She was killed in a home invasion. I was there. It wasn’t-” I pause. “I still have nightmares.”

Simon waits for me to continue.

“I was very young, no more than five years old, but that night is one of the clearest memories of my childhood.” Pause for wine sip. “Until I turned 11, and got an even more tragic memory.”

I flip around to face the rose, leaning my back against the balcony railing. Simon mimics me, his hand dropping from my shoulder, though he keeps the side of his body pressed firmly against mine.

“An old woman came to the door, seeking refuge and a cup of tea. I would have been happy to serve her outside, but she insisted on coming in. My mind kept flashing back to my mom’s death, to watching a group of men push their way into our house. To how they tried to steal her wedding ring, to when she refused.” I look at Simon, and am surprised to find he is staring at me already. I choose not to hold his gaze. It’s too much. For now.

“The ring itself was fairly worthless. It looked more expensive than it was. But it’d been a gift from my father, and had sentimental value. She died, all to save that stupid ring. And I watched, unable to help. A completely meaningless death, and a completely fucked up thing for a five year old to witness.

“Needless to say, in the throes of my PTSD flashback, I wasn’t inclined to give refuge to a complete stranger. And she repaid me for my trauma with a curse.”

I take a moment to close my eyes, trying to clear the memories. Trying to remind myself I’m safe. Then, Simon takes my hand.

“Tell me about the curse, Baz.”

I drop his hand and laugh. “It seems so stupid, but I’ve never actually said it out loud.”

Simon blinks at me. “Never?”

Shaking my head, “No. Who would I need to tell? Everyone I talk to was  _ there _ when it happened.”

He clinks his fingernail on the bottle. I laugh, then hold it out to him. He sips, and promptly returns it to my fingers. Looking him in the eyes, I take a sip as well. Then, I confess. “I’m a vampire, Simon Snow.”

He looks at me for a moment, and, because he’s the world’s greatest ignoramus, he shrugs. “So what?”

My jaw drops. “I drink blood, Snow. To stay alive.” He’s still looking at me like I just told him my favorite color is blue (it is, blue like the color of Simon Snow’s eyes, but that’s beside the point). “Do you not remember the night you met me? How I was sucking the life force out of Bugs Bunny?”

“I mean, but it’s not like you’re drinking  _ people _ ,” Simon says.

I can’t fathom what’s going on in his mind. How is he ok with this?

**SIMON**

To my defense, I’ve watched a lot of CW shows. If I’ve learned anything from them, it’s that vampires aren’t all bad. I try to make a correlation to non-vampire life. “You’re, like, a vegan vampire.”

Baz laughs. “You’re a clod, Snow.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“And take that back.”

“Take what back?”

“The vegan comment. I’ll not have you insult me so in my own castle.”

“Wait, I thought it was a mansion.”

The smile creeping up Baz’ face sends a spark through my body. He’s lightening up. I can feel the weight lift off his shoulders, and for some reason the word  _ finally _ echoes in my head. Like I’ve been waiting to help him with this burden since the moment I met him. There’s this feeling in my own chest, a warmth. I’m looking into Baz’ eyes as a piece of hair falls into his face. I reach up to tuck it behind his ear, and I wonder why I didn’t see this there before.

**BAZ**

When he reaches up to tuck my hair behind my ear, it’s everything I’ve ever wanted. How he touches me and doesn’t shudder at what I am. 

Then he whispers, “Is there any way to break the curse?” And it’s too much to think about with his hands on me. I back away so we’re no longer touching, and I instantly feel something in my heart snap.

“What are you doing, Snow? Don’t touch me.”  _ Why am I saying this? _ “What does it matter if I can break the curse? You know, that won’t change anything. I’m still not going to help you with your problem, even though you know my tragic backstory. Even if you help me break the curse.” Fridges, I don’t think this at all, why can’t I stop saying terrible things? 

The look on Simon’s face is heartbreaking. I can feel the horror and self-hatred within me grow. I reach out like maybe I can fix this if only I can touch him, but he flinches. Even if he didn’t see me as a monster before, there’s no telling what he thinks of me now.

“Why are you saying these things, Baz? Why are you like this?”

A sob chokes my throat. _ Because I’m cursed! _ I want to scream. Because I’m cursed, I can’t tell Simon how I feel. I’ll never be able to. The moment he starts to care for me, I push him away. Somehow, this is worse than having to drain wild beasts of their blood. Worse than the constant hunger and cold. Worse than knowing I’ve failed the servants and family members who rely on me to save them.

When he realizes I’m not going to answer, that I can’t answer, he growls, “Whatever. Don’t explain.” He takes a breath. “Look, I’m sorry for what’s happened to you. You were just a kid. It was unfair, tragically so, that a stranger should have cursed you for protecting yourself. That you’ve had to hold on to this pain, this responsibility that never should have been yours.”

Then he gives me this look that cuts me to my soul. “But you’re not the only person who’s experienced tragedy. Do you think it was easy for me to be dropped off on the doorstep of a fire station with my name written in permanent marker on my arm, like I’m more an object than a child? To grow up in foster care, being underfed, unloved and ignored? To have spoken less than 1000 words in your whole life because you’re so broken from years of neglect that you can barely stammer your own name let alone a full sentence?

“Imagine that, Baz. Then imagine that one day, someone comes into your life who sees you. Gets you. Against all odds wants to give you a home. Who loves you. And then, you find out that someone is in danger, all because of money. Because of stupid investments, and strip malls, and ‘putting Watford on the map.’

“What would you do for that person, Baz? For someone who gave you everything when you had nothing? Well, that’s why I’m here. To save her. To save Ebb, the only mother I’ve ever known. I thought” He starts pulling at his curls. “I thought you would  _ get _ that. Because you lost your mom. I thought you would understand that sacrifice.” He laughs. “But I guess not. I don’t know why I expected you to be anything but a coward. I wish I thought you were a monster, Baz. Then I wouldn’t be so disappointed to discover that you’re heartless.”

There’s a pause. A deafening silence. Except for the pieces of my supposedly non-existent heart shattering onto the floor. Which, I guess, only I can hear.

“Can I go to my room, now? Am I dismissed?” He scoffs, then walks away.

I sink into my armchair, staring at the rose as another petal falls. There’s less than half of the petals left. My chances are quickly vanishing. I’ve never felt so broken. Or ashamed. 

To think, only a few moments ago, I was sure I was falling in love.

**SIMON**

I storm back to my bedroom like a sullen teenager, then throw myself on the bed, groaning. I didn’t mean everything I said to Baz. Really, I didn’t. All those years stuttering, and I never thought that I might feel more pain from actually letting words out, rather being stuck keeping them in. 

“Are you ok?” Fiona asks.

“No,” I mumble into the duvet. I really don’t want to talk to her about what happened tonight. I don’t trust my words anymore. I don’t trust myself. She gets the hint, and leaves me alone with my silence.

**BAZ**

Simon’s words echo in my head.  _ What would you do for that person, Baz? For someone who gave you everything when you had nothing?  _

And suddenly, I have an answer. I can do what’s in my heart, even if I can’t speak it. So I go to Simon’s bedroom, unlock the door, and walk away.

**SIMON**

I hear the bedroom door unlock, and I think it must be a trap. Still, I wait five minutes, crawl out of bed, and test the doorknob. It opens. I throw on whatever’s closest and look back at Fiona. Her eyes are out, and she gives me a look that fills me with regret. 

“I’m sorry, Fi. But if he can’t help me - if he  _ won’t _ help me - I have to go back. For Ebb.”

There’s this slight dip in her face, like she’s trying to nod. Like she understands. I’m going to miss her, sad punk songs and all. I’m going to miss all of them, but I can’t waste time with long goodbyes. I’ve already wasted so much already.

I race out the front door, and no one stops me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If your heart didn’t break when Baz lets Simon go, are you capable of emotion?


	7. The Big Reveal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ebb delivers some feels. Agatha redeems herself. Penny joins Simon at Castle Pitch. This is a longer chapter than normal, so buckle up.

**EBB**

I knew I couldn’t keep him forever.

He was 16 when I first met him at the farmer’s market in Lancashire. Far too skinny for his age, so I could guess how he was being treated. Still, despite the obvious miscare in which he’d spent his childhood, he was so kind. Too kind. He must have heard me cry to the market manager that one of my goats had gone missing. I didn’t even see him listening, but sure enough he’d turned up at my stall hours later with the lost kid. Looking himself like a lost kid.

“T-this y-yours?” He’d asked. 

I could tell it pained him to talk, that he was embarrassed. “Yes, love.” I’d replied, and I gave him some cheese for his trouble. He tried not to take it, despite the fact he was clearly starving. He only accepted it after I reassured him that  _ not _ taking the cheese would cause me more harm than him taking it. Before he turned the corner, I could see he’d licked the wrapper clean.

The next weekend, I brought him scones. You’d have thought I’d given him a four course meal the way his eyes lit up.

Naturally, I fed him more and more over the following months. He still wouldn’t talk much. When he did speak, I made sure to wait patiently. To smile at him in encouragement. It helped, some. I started to break through his shells.

I knew it was strange to offer adoption to a teenage boy. What boy would want to come live on a farm? But he’d accepted immediately. When he said yes, I told him that I felt like he was returning my lost goat for a second time. We held each other and cried. That’s when I started calling him ‘little goat.’

The adoption process took time, and it wasn’t until he’d turned 19 that he was able to come live with me. It was obvious he wasn’t getting along too well in Watford, even though he had Penny, his books, cherry scones, and, I guess, me. Still, I felt like I’d done right by Simon. I made sure he was fed. I made sure he had a home.

Except, boys also need adventure. That’s why I wasn’t surprised to see him gone. Saddened, sure. But not surprised. I never believed I could be everything to Simon forever. My little goat, not so little anymore. I only wish I could see him one last time. Before the Mage takes me away. Just to say goodbye. To tell him I love him. To tell him, I understand.

**SIMON**

Well, as if my day wasn’t full enough of surprises, I can’t tell you what I felt to find Agatha grazing on some grass just outside of Castle Pitch’s gates. In fact, the beautiful horse had the audacity to look at me like  _ I  _ was the one who’d run away. She even had my saddlebags still secured (although the scones were long past their prime) (of course I checked the scones first)\

She lets me mount her (a phrase that never feels ok), and we ride together back to Ebb’s house.

I should feel elated that I’m returning home, but I can’t escape the sensation that I’m leaving a larger piece of my heart than I’d expected back at the castle-mansion. I guess I’m more attached to the assorted furniture and home goods than I realized.

Before I know it, I’m at the door to Ebb’s farm. My home, though now it looks different. Smaller in the nighttime, maybe. It’s late, and Ebb normally still has at least one light on at this time, but the house is completely dark. The house seems eerily quiet.

I open the door, and shout, “Eh-ebb?” Shit. I’d forgotten what it was like to stammer. The shame and frustration slams down on me, suffocating, like a coat worn the summer after a growth spurt. I wave it off as much as possible; there are more important things to do than wallow in self pity.

Running through the house, I slam open door after door. It’s a small house, and it doesn’t take long for me to realize that Ebb isn’t here. Hasn’t been here for several days. A sinking feeling settles in my chest. I slam my first against the wall. I want to be mad at Baz, for keeping me. For making me want to be kept. But I know it’s my fault. I’m the reason Ebb is gone. Because I wasn’t here to protect her.

I need to fix this.

Although I know I should tend to the goats, I refuse to stop now. I hop on Agatha (who, to her credit, did stick around this time) and I ride her into town. Penny’s shop is dark on the first floor, but it appears her apartment has a light on. I knock loudly until she shows up at the front door.

“Simon?” She gasps, pulling the door open at once. She wraps her arms around me. “Oh my god, Simon! Where have you been?”

I shake my head and point upstairs, reverting to the body language I used to rely on when I didn’t have my words. She nods back at me, and escorts me to her apartment. It’s only when I’m sitting at her kitchen table that I realize I don’t have my notebook with me. I’ve gotten so used to being able to speak at Castle Pitch that I’ve forgotten who I used to be. 

When I sigh deeply, Penny arrives at my side with a sheet of paper and pen. I almost cry with gratitude, but there’s no time for emotions.  _ Where’s Ebb? _ I write.

I’m half expecting Penny to conduct her own interrogation of where I’ve been and what’s happened, but, bless her, she doesn’t.

“The Mage, Simon. He had her committed. Said she was a danger to herself because of her depression,” Penny’s shoulders slump at this confession.

_ She’s not depressed! She’s just _ … I pause in writing to think how to phrase this.  _ She’s just  _ _ alive _ , I finish. It’s not the most accurate statement, but Penny seems to get what I’m saying. I put pen to paper again.  _ Where? _

“In the village jail. She’s set to be transferred to a larger institution within the next few days.”

I feel my jaw set, and Penny places her hand on my arm. 

“How can I help, Simon?”

In my heart, I know this is a dumb plan. I know Baz has made it clear he can’t or won’t help, and I can’t imagine what a clock, a candlestick, a teapot, a teacup, a feather duster, and an armoire can do (other than form the beginning of a very bad joke), but in this moment I feel like I need them.

_ Come with me to Castle Pitch,  _ I write.

To Penny’s credit, she looks me dead in the eyes, and nods.

**BAZ**

I used to think I was an expert at wallowing in my own self loathing, but I’ve really outdone myself tonight. Locking myself in the West Wing, I’ve decided to break every reflective surface I can find. Not because vampires can’t see their own reflection (we don’t sparkle, either, not unless Simon Snow is smiling at us, although that may just be me), but because I hate myself too much to see what I’ve become.

In fact, I’m five seconds from throwing that damn rose straight in the fireplace when I hear some commotion at the front gates.

“What in the hell is wrong with that horse, Simon?” A girl asks.

“She doesn’t like danger, Penny, leave her alone.”

“Wait, did you just - how are you not stuttering?"

“I don’t know. For some reason, I can speak freely here.”

“Huh. Suits you, though.”

“Thanks.”

“Really, I always wondered if you weren’t a bit dull.”

“Come on! Why does  _ everyone _ think I’m stupid?”

“Well, the horse did run away because of danger, and you’re the one heading straight for it.”

“Hah, hah, Penny. So are you, by the way.”

“I guess your stupidity is contagious.”

Then, there’s a knock at the front door.

I wonder if I should get it. I wonder who else might. I wonder if this Penny will be freaked out if she’s greeted by my coat rack. I wonder if I’m going to stop wondering and do something.

Then, I hear the door creak open. Should I go downstairs? Does he want me to? Am I a whole mess of indecision waiting to go up in flames?

I’m torn away from my vacillation when there’s a knock on an even closer door. My door. Oh candlesticks. I don’t know if I’m ready to face Simon.

“I know you’re in there, Baz. Martin said you were up in the West Wing breaking things.”

“Martin?”

“The coat rack! God, Baz, do you not even know the names of the furniture you’ve helped curse?”

Well,  _ no _ actually but I’m not going to tell  _ him _ that. Martin, is it? Good to know.

“What do you want?”

“To come in, obviously. Why else does one knock on a door?”

There’s a muffled response to this, and I’m sure it’s not meant for human ears. “Simon, geez. Think you could be a little bit nicer to a man from whom you’re about to request a favor?”

In the same soft tone, Simon adds, “Penny, if there’s one language he speaks, it’s asshole.” Then, in a tone I’m meant to hear, “Let me in, Baz. You owe me.”\

I swing open the door. “I owe  _ you _ , Snow? Who do you think let you go?”

I try not to stare at the small but fierce woman by Simon’s side. Is her hair purple? That can’t be natural (but who am I to judge? I’m a vampire, surrounded by talking furniture). She thrusts her tiny hand out at me.

“I’m Penelope Bunce, by the way. Penny for short.”

I take her hand. “Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch,” I respond, shaking her hand. “But you can call me Baz.”

Simon rolls his eyes. “Oh, so she gets an introduction? Cool.” He looks around at the broken glass. “Bad hair day?” He attempts a single eyebrow raise, but can only manage to lift both. It’s horribly endearing, so I sneer at him. The result is less impactful than I expected. He actually smiles at me, the dullard. “We need to talk.”

“Not here,” I say, looking back at the rose. “In the library.” Simon and Penny give each other this look, and I swear I’ve never seen two people this happy at the prospect of books before. 

“But not tonight.” I see their instant heartbreak, and it almost gives me pause. Almost. “We’ll meet tomorrow morning.” Anticipating the next question, I add, “Yes, after breakfast. You can have your scones first, Snow. But for now, we all need our beauty sleep. Especially you,” I say to Simon. He glares at me, and then nods. I can see the exhaustion all over both of their faces. I’m sure it’s on mine too (breaking mirrors is hard work). I walk them to their bedrooms.

**PENNY**

As I walk to my guest room for the night, I wonder what in the hell I’ve stumbled into. Simon and this Baz are arguing like an old married couple. If I weren’t so thrown off by meeting the infamous prince of Castle Pitch (he’s, like, Disney princess handsome; is that a strange descriptor for a man? Who am I kidding, everything about this is strange), I might be more interested in figuring out what in the soap opera has played out during the one week Simon has been away.

Also, I’m drooling over the possibility of seeing the library. Simon mentioned all of the books he’d read during his time here, how most were leather bound and possibly first editions. I don’t know if it’s normal to pop lady boners over books, but I’m willing to find out. Even if I have to wait until the morning.

**SIMON**

Penny looks positively ecstatic over the concept of the Castle Pitch library. As for me, I can’t help but get over just how much my heart leapt at seeing Baz’ face again. You’d have thought being kidnapped, locked in a dungeon, locked in a bedroom, threatened to starve to death, and frequently insulted would make me hate the bastard. As it stands, I’m starting to fear that I’m falling for him. What does this all mean? 

I push all of this down into the parts of my brain labeled “Warning: Do Not Think” and focus on getting some rest. And on the great unveiling I’m about to witness tomorrow. Knowing Baz, it’s going to be theatrical as fuck.

**BAZ**

I can’t deny I’m going to spend a good portion of the time spent trying to fall asleep tonight plotting just how dramatic a reveal of the library I can create.

**SIMON**

As I’m slipping into my dreams, I hear a soft voice from the corner.

“I’m glad you’re back, Simon. I missed you, we all did,” Fiona whispers.

“I missed you guys too, Fi.” And I really, really mean it.

**BAZ**

It’s amazing how quickly I can get through my morning skin and hair routine when motivated by the promise of seeing Simon Snow. I swing by the guest rooms, and find Penny sitting outside her room looking absolutely horrified.

“You saw him eat the scones, didn’t you?”

She nods, her eyes wide.

“Will he be much longer?” I ask.

She swallows. “Probably.” Then, she shakes her head as if to etch-a-sketch erase the memory. “Before he comes out, Baz, I wanted to talk to you.”

My shoulders stiffen. Penny seems like the type to deliver brutal honesty, and I’m not sure I’m ready for what she’s about to say. I take a deep breath, and say, “Bring it on, Bunce.”

“Simon filled me in this morning on what’s been going on. But I have a feeling there’s something he’s not saying. Maybe something he doesn’t know.”

I try to sound as bored as possible. “What could you possibly mean?”

Putting her hands on her hips, Penny’s body language shifts into offensive mode. “Don’t deflect, Baz. This is important. There’s another part of the curse, isn’t there? Something other than, you know.” She puts her index fingers up to her mouth, making them look like fangs. It’s a wonder that I’ve drained the blood of nearly hundreds of beasts, and yet I still had so far to fall.

“Please stop doing that, Bunce. You can say vampire.”

She shrugs, “Well I didn’t know if you’d be  _ sensitive _ about it.” Shaking her curly hair, she continues, “Anyways, you know Simon can’t talk outside these grounds, right?”

“He mentioned it, yes. Although, he’s barely stopped talking his entire stay here. It’s hard to imagine a silent Snow.”

She gives me a sad look I don’t understand, and continues. “Well, I was listening to him speak, marveling at the ease of it all, especially knowing how he sounded before, when it dawned on me. That maybe you’re more cursed than he knows. That there are some things  _ you _ can’t say.”

I must look shocked. I am shocked; a stranger has been able to glean from about five seconds of interacting with me something I haven’t been able to share with Snow in over a week. I don’t want to keep calling him an idiot but… Penny gives me a look like I’ve just confirmed her theory.

“He’s not stupid, you know.” Oh carpets, can she read my mind now, too? She sighs. “He’s spent his whole life having to wear his emotions on his sleeve. It was necessary, you see, for him to be able to communicate. Not being able to use his words, he’s had to rely on using his face and body instead. That means two things. One, he’s really not used to people being able to hide how they’re feeling. It’s alien to him, because he’s never done that. 

“And as for the second thing? Baz, this is important for you to understand: he’s completely incapable of hiding what he thinks. The boy wears his heart on his sleeve. If you see something, if you even suspect you see something in him, it’s there. He’s not tricking you. He’s not manipulating you. What you see with Simon is what you get.

“I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through, and I’d guess it left you with more walls than you care to admit. But you’re safe with Simon, Baz. I hope, one day, you’ll be able to feel that. Oh, and-” Only then, Simon’s door opens. Penny looks at me, like there was something else she needed to share, but it’s too late now.

Oh well, I’ll comfort myself with my own grand reveal.

**SIMON**

Baz walks us over to the library, and it dawns on me how little I’ve seen of the castle-mansion so far. In my defense, I was locked in my bedroom for most of that time. Still, I’m excited to see more of Baz’ home.

“Put these on,” Baz says, because, of course, he’s brought us blindfolds.

Penny and I look at each other, then we oblige him. He leads us into the room by our elbows. After some time, he removes his hands from us, and the two of us are standing alone in what seems to be a cold, dark room. A large one, too; I can tell by the way Baz’ shoe-clicks echo off the walls.

Suddenly, there’s light in one corner of my blindfold. Then more. And more. It’s clear Baz is throwing open large curtains, his movements full of swish and drama. I can feel warmth and sun streaming into my skin. I smile. What a show off.

“You may open your eyes, now.”

We rip off our blindfolds and look around. It’s the most magnificent library I’ve ever seen. It’s three stories tall, with walls that curve into one another. There are so many ladders and staircases, with private little reading nooks next to windows, and I can imagine getting lost in here. I want to get lost in here. I look at Penny, grab her hand, and together we squeal with happiness.

“It’s just a library,” Baz drones. But he looks exceedingly pleased.

Then, the serving cart rolls in with Daphne, Mordelia, Shepard, Niall and Dev on it. A four-legged footstool lumbers behind the cart. I’m starting to guess that’s Baz’ dad, Malcolm, and I do whatever I can to avoid eye contact with it, I mean him.

“Are we done with the campy library reveal, Baz? Can we get on with the rescue planning?” Niall asks.

“So, we’ve just given up on breaking the curse, then?” Dev asks. Then he looks at Baz. “Don’t make me tick at you.” Baz shudders.

“Can’t we do both?” I ask. “Wouldn’t it be easier to take back Watford if Baz wasn’t, you know.” I take my index fingers and make them into fangs by my mouth.

Baz groans, “Oh, since when are we doing that to refer to my curse? I do not remember approving this.”

“I mean,  _ I’m _ not doing it,” Shepard says.

“That’s because you don’t have fingers, silly.” Mordelia responds.

It just occurs to me to look at Penny, because it can be quite a shock being addressed by home goods for the first time. But she’s somehow managed to find her way into the stacks. Nothing comes between Penny and her books.

“Uh, Penny? Want to meet the gang?” I ask.

“Oh!” She gasps, looking over. “Hullo, all. I’m Penny.” She starts heading back to me.

“Hi Penny,” The gang sings in unison. I think Shepard winks at her.

“Introductions later,” Baz waves his hand in the air. “We need to figure out how we can rescue this Ebb, so that Snow will be gone from my life once and for all.” 

Ouch, I’d forgotten how easily it was for Baz’ words to sting. Penny’s suddenly at my side, giving me another look I can’t read. 

“She’s being held at the village jail for now, but they want to move her as soon as possible. I heard they were planning for a transfer in the next few days, so we don’t have much more time to waste,” Penny says.

“This coming from the girl who can’t stop eye-humping the books in here,” I whisper in her ear. She actually blushes.

“So, how do we do this? Storm the gates? Burn down the building?” I’m feeling jumpy, and eager to have something in my hands. Maybe a sword.

“Slow down, you nightmare.” Baz says. “I was thinking we would take the political road.”

“Huh?” I ask.

He looks at me, and swallows. “I mean, I take back my rightful place.”

My head starts spinning. It’s only what I’ve been requesting since I arrived at Castle Pitch.  _ Now _ he’s ready to step forward? What’s changed?

I clear my throat, because it’s suddenly feeling all choked up (must be because I had too many scones and not enough water). “And how do you do that?”

“I’m sure Penny knows,” Baz says, nodding at her.

She beams. “Yes! Well, the first part is easy. All it takes to claim your spot is heading down to the courthouse, filling out some paperwork, and swearing an oath. You could probably get it done in a morning, provided you have all of the documents already to prove your lineage. You do have those documents, don’t you?”

Baz pulls a small envelope from his back pocket, waves it in the air, then places it back in his pocket (honestly, it’s a wonder the packet fits back there, considering how tight his pants are. Which is definitely something I did not notice).

Penny nods. “Good. Now, here comes the hard part. Obviously, the Mage is going to contest the claim. He can do that in a three-part challenge. Hold on, I forget what the challenges are. Let me pull out my copy of the town bylaws.” She pulls a booklet out of her pocket, and flips through the pages until she finds what she’s looking for.

“Let’s see, he has to challenge you to an arm wrestling contest, force you to stick your whole hand in a bucket of human blood and whoever takes their hand out first loses, and have a contest to see who can hold a cross the longest.” She looks up. “You have to win two out of three in order to keep your claim. Have we talked about how weird this town is, yet?”

Normally, Baz doesn’t have a lot of color to his skin (I’m guessing that’s a vampire thing), but what little color he does have drains while Penny talks.

“What’s wrong, Baz?”

“Can’t you see? All three of those challenges will reveal what I am.”

I think about it for a second. For arm wrestling, the Mage  _ looks _ like the clear winner. How did the song go? He’s roughly the size of a barge? Baz isn’t without the appearance of lean muscle (not that I’ve really noticed), but it’d be a shock if he won. And he could win; his vampire strength carried me up who knows how many flights of stairs to the dungeon tower. Of course, we want him to win, so maybe he could just barely win? That one might work. 

As for the blood contest, that problem is obvious. I’m sure Baz’ fangs would come out the second he smells blood, if my vampire shows taught me anything. As for the cross one, I guess Baz would know, but maybe it’d burn him. These challenges are all so bizarre and specific. I knew this town was strange, but… suddenly, something gets a lot clearer to me. 

“Penny, when were these challenges established?” I ask.

“Hold on, let me check.” She does some more digging in the book. “Huh. They’re actually recent additions. Made in the last 10 years.”

I’m nodding at this.

“What is it, Snow?” Baz asks. “Care to share with the whole class?”

“It’s obvious, Baz.” I look at him. “The Mage is the reason you’re cursed.”

His eyes open wide, then narrow. “Of course. How did I not realize this sooner? Who hears of enchantresses wandering through forests looking for people to curse? In this economy?”

I walk over to him, and place my arm on his shoulder. “It’s ok. You were a kid; you can’t be blamed for missing this. No one else caught it.” I can feel him start to pull away from me, but I won’t let him. I drop my hand down from his shoulder, and wrap my arm around his waist in a pseudo-hug. “Seriously, Baz. Let this go,” I whisper in his ear. “Let the guilt go. It’s not yours.”

He looks down at me, sighs, and lets me keep my arm wrapped around him, sinking into my side a bit as if it’s comforting. “Right. It’s clear now that all the Mage has ever wanted was my family out of the way. He must have bribed or blackmailed the enchantress into stopping by my house that night. Then, he could become the interim mayor, and make changes to the town charter, ensuring he could keep his spot. Knowing what he’d made me.” Baz shakes his head. 

“I can’t take back my place without breaking the curse.” He looks at me, “I can’t-” There’s this sound in his throat. It sounds like Ebb, when she’s about to-

Then he storms out of the library.

**BAZ**

I can’t help Simon. Now that I’m finally ready, I can’t do it. Because I’m cursed. Even if I manage to make it through one or all of the three challenges, everyone in Watford will know what I am. How will they let me run the town, when I’m a monster?

**PENNY**

I can see Simon is about to run after Baz, and, while I want him to, there’s something I need to tell him first.

“Simon, wait.” I drag him over to a corner where we can have some privacy. Or, I hope we can have privacy. “Are the books people, too?” I whisper.

He shrugs. “I gave up trying to figure this place out. Too many weird rules. Too many children cups.”

I have no idea what he means by that, and I don’t want to ask. So I finish my mission. “About Baz, I know you think he’s heartless.”

“I don’t think he’s heartless, Penny. But he’s so mean to me. Just when I think we’ve made a connection, he pulls away.”

“That’s what I’m saying, Simon. I think it’s part of his curse.”

“Being mean is part of his curse?” He looks skeptical, and I don’t blame him.

I shake my head. “It’s more than that. It’s like, he can’t say nice things. And if he does, he has to immediately say mean things.”

Simon thinks about this for a minute. “But he has said nice things to me. I think.”

“So it’s not all the time?” 

He nods. Huh. That’s strange. But then again, it’s strange that Simon can speak here, and only here. And that sometimes Baz can be nice…

“Is there any common factor?”

“Huh?”

“Something that’s always true whenever Baz can say nice things to you.”

“I’m not sure… but.” He gets this weird look on his face. “Maybe he’s nicer to me if we’re touching.”

Everything makes so much sense. “Simon, there’s clearly a connection here. Remember those romance novels I gave you?”

He nods. Then stops nodding. Then starts nodding faster. “Penny, you’re a genius.”

“I know,” I say, flipping my hair over my shoulder. When I do, I notice there’s a feather duster looking at me. God, this is such a bizarre castle. And town. And life, if I’m thinking about it.

I turn back to Simon, and his face is starting to turn tomato levels of red. “What’s wrong, Simon?”

“I need to talk to Baz.” And then he runs after his man.

**BAZ**

Of course, Simon has no respect for boundaries. He waits a few minutes, and then he follows me out of the room.

Turning my back to him, I growl, “Can’t a guy have a mental breakdown in privacy?”

“No.” He says, and he turns me to face him, wrapping his arms around me.

And as if I didn’t hate myself enough, I start crying. I lean into his strong shoulders, and I let the tears fall right out of my eyeballs. Traitors. And because he’s Simon Lampshades Snow, he rubs my back gently.

“It’s ok, Baz.”

“It’s absolutely not ok, Snow.”

“I don’t mean the situation. I meant, it’s ok that you’re sad about it.”

I sigh, and I can feel my muscles relax. “I’m so sorry I can’t help you. I really, really wanted to. I wanted to be able to return your Ebb to you. You deserve that and more.”

Somehow, Simon thinks the appropriate response to this is to laugh.

“What in the world is so funny, Snow?”

“It’s just, Penny was right. She’s always right.”

“Right about what?”

“Nothing, it’s not important right now.” He gives me a deep squeeze, and pulls back just enough to see my face while keeping his arms wrapped around me. “Tell me how to break the curse, Baz.”

I’m looking into his eyes, and I’m thinking about what Penny said. As Simon said, Penny is always right. So I look for what she was talking about. I look for Simon. His blue eyes are open, trusting. His smile is just a hint at the corners of his mouth, ready to bloom. And there’s something there. Like, maybe he might just- my eyes flick down to his mouth.

“Oh,” He says. “I should have- it all makes sense, now.”

“What makes sense to you? Because nothing makes sense to me at all.”

“It’s true love’s kiss, isn’t it? That’s how you break the curse.”

**SIMON**

Of course it is. How did I not see this earlier? Baz nods slowly, like he doesn’t want to confirm it. I knew reading those romance novels was a good idea. It’s always true love’s kiss that breaks a spell. 

I smile at him. His hair’s falling into his face again, so I push it behind his ears because I like doing that. I like taking care of him. He’s holding the weight of the world on his shoulders and it’s not his. At least, it’s not his alone.

I’m not so egotistical to assume I’m Baz’ true love. But, I do love him, I know that now, Stockholm Syndrome be damned (although I did start falling for him  _ after _ he let me out of the dungeon, so I think that makes it better somehow). So, I guess this is worth a try. Worst case scenario, I’m kissing Baz. And I really want to kiss Baz.

**BAZ**

Simon smiles at me, then lifts his hands to gently push back the strands of hair that are falling in my face. He seems to like doing that, so I let him (I don’t hate it either).

I have no idea what’s going on here, but I’m in no hurry to stop it. Still, there’s a question I need answered before Simon does what I really, really, really hope he’s planning on doing.

“Simon, what if the curse is what’s responsible for you being able to speak without a stutter?” 

He shrugs. 

“That’s not an answer, Snow.” 

“It is for me.” Then, he juts his chin out and, oh, it’s everything I dreamed of (I am so getting him a sword before the day is through). He presses my chest against his chest, and then, his lips against mine. Just as soon as our lips meet, he shoves me away so hard I fall back three steps.

“Why in the hell did you push me away?” I whine, touching my lips. A one-second kiss can’t be the culmination of all this sexual tension. I take a step toward him, and he takes two back. I’m so angry. I’m so in love. And then, oh no. “What about your stutter, you beautiful self-sacrificing hero?” I yell. The stunning fool  _ grins _ at me, hands on his hips. Like he’s waiting. For what? Then, I realize what I’ve just said. And what I haven’t said. I press my luck (do I have luck now?). 

“I love you so much it hurts. From the first moment I saw you. From every moment since then,” It’s now flowing out of me. I can’t stop it. I don’t want to. “I love your heart, and your kindness. I love your laughter. I love your joy. Despite everything you’ve been through, you’re just so  _ good _ . Too good. Too good for me, and yet, here you are. Believing in me.”

Finally, once he’s proven his point, he gathers me back in my arms, and whispers in my ear, “You called me Simon.”

I scoff. “ _ That’s _ what you’re taking away from my dramatic confession?”

“I love you too, Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch.” And he kisses me again.

“Wait, you can still speak?” I ask.

He shrugs because  _ of course _ then says, “I guess so. If I was ever going to stumble, it would be on that ridiculous name of yours.” And then he winks at me, like I’m not already five seconds from tonguing him like the world’s going to end. I’m just about to pounce when I hear Penny yell, “Holy fuck!” 

I look at Simon, and we both smile.

“Let’s go see the damage, shall we?” I invite, offering my arm to his. He takes it, and we walk into the library. Sure enough, there they all are: my servants and my family (although, I suppose they’re all family now). Human again. I walk over to the man who was my coat rack, and slap him on the shoulder. “Martin, my man. How are you?”

He gives me a blank look. “Who’s Martin? I’m Howard.”

My jaw drops, and I look over at Simon. He’s full on cackling. “Simon Snow! You entire imp. Did you plan this?” He’s laughing with his whole body now, tears streaming down his face. I want to be mad but I’m just so happy. “Come here you monster,” and I kiss him until Mordelia makes a gagging sound.

I look up over Simon’s shoulder, and I see Howard looking pretty smug. “What do you have to be proud of, Howard, you who used to hold my coats for a living?” 

Howard laughs, and says, “It’s actually Martin.”

Now, the whole room is laughing, but I can’t get my bearings. “Ok come on, guys! Which is it? Martin or Howard?”

Between fits of laughter, Simon taunts, “I don’t know, Baz. Is your house a castle or a mansion?” And the laughter escalates. Although Penny is looking very confused. At least I’m not alone in my suffering.

Then Niall, the continued voice of reason, chimes in. “So, are we going to rescue Ebb, or what?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry not sorry for having Simon break the curse before rescuing the damsel in distress, I was tired of having Baz say mean things, and soft Baz is my favorite Baz. Also, it’s possible I inherited Baz’ curse because it was hard for me to write the emotional scenes. Hence, Martin/Howard’s triumphant return.


	8. The Happy Ending is Anticlimactic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fourth wall takes another break, the climax you’ve been waiting for, and a happy ending. I’m sorry I just said climax and happy ending. Also eye rolls make a comeback. And soft Baz is soft. Plus, Ebb can deliver the feels like no one else.

**THE MAGE**

When I see Simon Snow approach my office in the village city hall, I freeze. I should have known his recent disappearance was too good to be true. But here he is, with a gang of people I should recognize but don’t. It’s as if they’re caught behind wavy glass. Simultaneously known and unknown to me.

No matter. Whoever they are, they won’t succeed. I made sure of that starting with the plot I set into motion over sixteen years ago.

**SIMON**

I feel like a real badass walking up to city hall, Baz at my arm, Dev and Niall behind me. Fiona and Penny bringing up the rear. Although I’d feel more badass if I’d been able to bring a sword (Baz said he’ll get me one eventually. I wanted to know why, but he had this look on his face that maybe his answer wouldn’t be family friendly) (when did Baz’ not safe for work face start making my pants tighter?).

The rest of the crew is waiting in the wings, on hand in case we need them. Even Agatha stuck around. Of course, that might just be because of the hay that city hall keeps nearby.

We reach the Mage’s office, and Baz hands over the documents he’s collected and signed.

“Mr. Mage, I hereby reclaim the office as is rightfully mine due to Watford City Bylaw 161. Part three,” Baz says, managing to make the least dramatic statement in the world resound with theatrics.  _ He really needs a cape _ , I think.

The Mage smirks like he’s been expecting this. “Well, well, Mr. Grimm-Pitch. How surprising to see you in Watford, during a time other than twilight.”

Is he seriously making Twilight jokes right now?

“It is my town, after all. I shouldn’t think I would need a reason to assert my place as royal sovereign over this village.”

They are glaring at each other so intently, I expect one or both of their heads to explode shortly. 

“And yet, you haven’t graced us with your presence in ten years. I wonder why,” The Mage sneers. “No matter. You know I have the right to challenge your claim.”

“I do.”

“Well, then let’s get on with it, shall we?”

**BAZ**

The whole party reconvenes in a little pub just down the road. It appears the whole town has shown up to watch the spectacle. The Mage has had some time to rally the troops and he’s used it to his advantage; the crowd is singing some hideous song about “killing the beast” and “we don't like what we don't understand in fact it scares us” which seems way too self-aware to have been written into a mob-song. Still, based on the other song lyrics, it’s more clear than ever that the Mage was behind my curse. He thinks he’s made me into a monster.

I throw a grin over to Simon, and he beams back at me. We have a card up our sleeve, and we know it. “For Ebb,” I mouth at Simon.

He places his hand over his heart, and nods back at me.

**SIMON**

The Mage determines the order of the challenges, and he picks arm wrestling first, followed by cross holding, with the blood bucket face off as the finale.

I start running through the scenarios now that Baz is no longer a vampire, and quickly determine that the challenges hold way less drama than previously imagined. The Mage had planned this attack imagining his dramatic reveal of a vampire. But now, it’s just two dudes engaging in some really strange activities. No matter how I play it, I can’t see a satisfactory ending for either us or the Mage’s crew. So, because (as previously well established) I am an idiot, I speak my mind.

Standing up, I raise one hand. To my surprise, the room quiets. Ok, this is better than I anticipated. I start. “Hold on, everyone. Are we really doing this? Can’t we all see how weird and pointless this all is? Has anyone thought about these challenges? Like, obviously the Mage will win round one. He eats like, five dozen eggs a day apparently.”

The Mage mouths, “How does he know?” So I answer, “It was in the _ song _ . You know, the one your Magelets sang a week or so ago?” Penny winces at this, and I realize I’m not supposed to say ‘Magelets’ out loud. I smile, remembering a time when I didn’t want to cause Ebb any trouble. Seems like those days have gone right out of the window. Still, I continue.

“I mean, look at Baz. He’s not competition for the Mage in a battle of strengths.” I look at Baz. “Sorry darling, but it’s true. You have wonderful muscle definition, but he’s apparently barge-size and I’d rather you not get hurt.” Baz is turning a bit red at these comments, but I think he’s flattered regardless. There’s a lot of people in the audience mouthing “darling?” at each other, but that’s not important (for now; I’m sure Baz will have some choice words for me later). 

Anyways, I turn to the wider audience. “As for round two, I mean. Who here wants to watch two dudes hold a cross until one of them needs to take a leak?” I look around the room, and a lot of people seem to be agreeing with me. Good. Now the finale. “As for the weird blood bucket request, can we all agree that’s really gross? Like, how are we getting two entire buckets of human blood? I mean, I guess Baz and the Mage can share one bucket, but still, even one bucket of blood is way beyond the creep factor that’s acceptable for this town. Am I right?”

People are really nodding along with me now, but it seems like on the whole the audience is mostly jist staring at me. I think about it, and it dawns on me why that might be. Ok! Address the elephant in the room. I’ve done that before, with moderate success. 

“Oh yeah! I can talk now.” I turn to Rhys and Gareth. “Now that I don’t stutter, I can finally apologize for singing that insulting song; I didn’t mean anything by it. I just had the tune stuck in my head from a movie I saw once. Didn’t realize how it might sound out loud until I saw your faces. Watford’s a lovely town. Not provincial at all. I think. Actually, Penny, what does provincial mean?”

She looks confused but types on her phone a bit, and eventually shouts, “Of or concerning a province of a country or empire.”

“Oh, well. I guess that does make this town provincial. Huh.”

“You said my rolls were boring, that’s why we were mad!” Gareth yells.

“Well, that’s simply not true, Gareth. Your rolls are heavenly. I love your rolls.”

“Thanks! I forgive you.” Gareth calls back.

“You better for-give me some rolls,” I say. And the crowd laughs. Baz groans.

“Enough with this nonsense!” The Mage shouts. “Baz is a vampire! He can’t be our ruler.”

Someone I can’t see in the audience shouts, “Well you’re an  _ asshole _ and we elected you!”

Then, a girl cries out, “Vampires are sexy! Team Edward.”

Clearly this random speech thing I’ve started is going off the rails, fast. I look at Baz and he has the audacity to look amused by the whole event. I see the cross on the table, pick it up, and yell, “Think fast!” before tossing it to Baz. He catches it with ease, because even as a human he’s still more graceful and beautiful than anyone I’ve ever met.

I turn to the Mage, “See? Not a vampire.”

Baz wiggles the cross in the air, tosses it to his other hand, and holds the previous palm up. “No burns.”

The audience gasps, although I think they’re missing some context here. But what audience doesn’t enjoy a good dramatic gasp now and then?

The Mage growls. “That proves nothing! He hasn’t beaten me at the challenges.”

I roll my eyes in that dramatic way only someone who’d lived in Castle Pitch could muster. “Ok, so who here would like to watch the Mage hold a cross or stick his hand in a bucket of blood in order to hold onto his interim Mayor position, knowing full well the real prince of Watford is here, complete with documents proving his legitimacy?”

There’s some mumbling in the audience. Then, someone yells, “We want Baz!”

A brief pause follows this outburst, then a few people chime in. “Yeah! Fuck the democratically elected Mayor. We want a king!” Someone yells.

Ok, that is not exactly the vibe I was looking for. I look over at Baz, and he’s shrugging his shoulders as if to say, “If the people want it…”

But I can’t let this slide. “I’m not asking you people to give up on  _ democracy _ . I’m just saying, would you rather have Baz as your mayor? Or the Mage?”

There’s a brief silence, followed by the slow building of a chant. “Baz. Baz. Baz! Baz! BAZ!”

I look over at him, my beautiful ex-vampire ‘friend’ (ok I guess we haven’t defined things yet, but who cares). He’s grinning ear to ear.

The Mage throws his hands up and says, “Fine! Keep your stupid Watford. I’m leaving.” And he walks out of the pub.

Honestly, I’m shocked. It’s an anticlimactic end to a decades-long terror of a man who thought strip malls and curses were more important than goat farms, and uh, not being cursed? I probably shouldn’t spend too much time thinking about it. I am a dullard, aren’t I?

“Can we get Ebb now?” I ask Baz.

“I thought you’d never ask,” He counters. Then, slipping his arm around my waist, he whispers, “But, in the future, I’m going to need you to refer to me as ‘your majesty’ when in the presence of my adoring fans.” So I do what is only natural when faced with such an insulting display of ego. I kiss him until he shuts up.

**BAZ**

We’re standing in front of the village jail, and I’ve never been so nervous in my life. I’ve only defeated the man who cursed me, am currently holding hands with my one true love who released me from said curse, while being surrounded by the friends and family who stood by me when they became collateral damage to said curse. But all I can think is that  _ I’m going to meet Simon Snow’s mother. _ Christ, I’m so fucked.

Oh, I should mention that one benefit to the curse being lifted (besides the cessation of never ending blood-hunger and perpetual shivers) (although I’ll miss the Vampire strength, which may have come in handy during the ah-hem extracurricular activities I hope to now enjoy with Simon), is that I no longer have to curse in furniture names. When Fiona realized this, she yelled, “Bitch! Ass! Fuck! Cunt!” for about five minutes. It would have been hilarious if Mordelia hadn’t been within earshot (I’m sure she’d already been forever scarred by Simon Snow sipping tea out of her) (still, I’m pretty certain Daphne will have me paying the bulk of Mordelia’s therapy co-pays forever).

Simon and I walk into the jail, hand in hand. We reach the bars of Ebb’s cage, and Simon kneels down beside it. I can tell by the slump in his shoulders that he feels the weight of the world on them. Just like I used to. I place my hand on one shoulder, and try to send through this contact point my complete and undying devotion to him. God help me. I’m too in love to function.

**SIMON**

I kneel down by Ebb’s cage, and I’m so ashamed. It’s taken me way too long to get here, to help her. Being here now doesn’t erase the meandering path I took to bring her peace. Especially when compared to her own self-sacrifice.

Baz places his hand on my shoulder, and it helps. Even though it reminds me what I was willing to give up. His comfort, for her freedom. I try to shake it away. But I let his hand stay. Baz would probably think this makes me weak. Well, if it makes me weak, then we match.

“Ebb?”

Then, I hear her stir. 

“Simon? Oh, Simon. I’m so glad you came back. I wanted to say goodbye.”

A sob chokes out of me. “Baz, get the key, I can’t stand this-”

Before I can get the words out, he’s unlocking the door. Ebb spills into my arms.

“Ebb, I’m so sorry. I’m here to.” I gasp between sobs. “I’m here to rescue you. You’re not going anywhere. Not anymore.”

She doesn’t even mention my lack of stuttering. Like I’d said to Baz, she sees me. All of me. Always has.

She reaches up to caress my cheek. “Little goat, it’s ok that you needed to stretch your legs. I can’t be your everything forever.”

I sigh, and press my forehead against hers. “You are my everything. And I’m so sorry.”

She tuts. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. You gave me so much, more than I’d ever dreamed. But, tell me. I think there’s a story you need to share.”

Smiling, I pull away. “I do have a story for you. But not here.”

She smiles back at me. I take her hand in mine. Then, in my other hand, I take Baz’. The three of us look upon one another, and it feels like home.

**EBB**

He came back. Not to say goodbye, but to start his next chapter. He introduced me to his love, his Baz, and I’m so happy. For both of them. They’ve been through so much. They deserve all of the happiness they’ve found together.

Of course, I’m also happy not to be heading off to wherever the Mage wanted to ship me. I’m even more ecstatic when I’m reunited with my high school sweetheart, Fiona. She’s also been through an ordeal, though it left her with many more curse words than I’m accustomed to hearing in my daily life. Still, I think I can adjust. For her.

In the end, Simon decides to move to Castle Pitch, while Fiona stays with me. He needs Baz, and Fiona needs an audience that won’t flinch when she unleashes a stream of expletives. Goats are resilient that way.

I always knew Simon needed more of an adventure than he’d find on a goat farm, even if he disagreed. But it comforts him to know he’s just a short Agatha-ride away from me. And I’m not jealous at all that he’s discovered another home. Because he’s still got one with me; he still wants one with me. I think maybe Baz needs me, too. And I’m not stretched thin, whatever the Mage thought of me. I have more than enough love to give. That’s why I cry. Because I have too much to give. And bless him, Baz is willing to be another one of my outlets.

It turns out, nurturing lost goats is a talent of mine. The more stubborn, the better. I’ve never been afraid of a challenge. Turns out, neither is Simon. I think Baz will keep him on his toes. The thought makes me smile.

I never thought to wish true love for him. Never thought it was possible. Not for me, or for Simon. But, oh Simon. My lost kid, my surprise present. My little goat, not so little anymore.

I guess it was never a stretch to imagine that he could reach the impossible. And that’s what he’s found, hasn’t he? One curse broken, one true love found, one village saved, one damsel rescued (how strange to think that was me). 

How could I have ever doubted the hero inside him? The hero who returned my lost goat to me, and returned his destiny to himself?

Back in my home, I curl up next to Fiona, and I feel so, so grateful. So much so that when the tears fall, I know they are gifts. A side effect of being so full of love that I can’t contain it all within me. I wouldn’t want to. Love is for sharing. I taught Simon that, and it’s made all the difference.

Simon Snow, you are the hero of this story. And you are so loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, this is as sappy as I get. See ya later. Gonna go curl up next to my own true love and thank my lucky stars.


	9. EPILOGUE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sweet moment, when Simon realizes Baz is nothing more than a stinking goat.

**BAZ**

“You know, we’ve never talked about what this means.”

“Like? Are we boyfriends? I kissed a curse out of you, Baz. I think I’m comfortable with labels.”

“No! I mean, that we’re, that it’s-”

“And here I thought  _ I  _ was the one who might come out the other end of this curse stammering.” He kisses me on the nose, to remind me he loves me.

“It’s just. True love, you know. That’s a lot of pressure to put on a relationship that started out with me basically putting you in chains.”

“Some people in relationships like chains,” He says, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

I slap his arm playfully. “Stop, you insatiable menace.” He snuggles into my shoulder, letting his curls tickle the bottom of my chin. I wrap my arms around him.

“I’m not worried, if that’s what you're asking. Or pressured. Or scared. Or anything but happy.”

I squeeze tighter. “Ok. I just wanted you to know there’s no pressure.”

He scoffs. “Well, I wouldn’t say  _ no _ pressure. Your dad had a few choice words to say to me. And Fiona. And Mordelia. I’m surprised Dev and Niall haven’t had their turn.”

“Oh, well that’s because I’ve scheduled them for next Tuesday. Dev has homework for you. Wants you to come prepared with a list of my favorite snacks.”

“Does that mean you’ll write up a list of  _ my _ favorite snacks?”

“Simon Snow, who needs a list for only one item?” I kiss the top of his head. “Of course, I should have said there’s no pressure from _ me _ . Though I’m not above bribes to keep you around.”

“Scones?” He asks, yawning.

“Scones.” I kiss his head. “Cherry scones.” I kiss his forehead. “Sour cherry scones.” I kiss his nose. “All of the scones you could ever want.” And then I kiss his mouth. I’m just about to make movements that’ll make him regret that yawn, when I hear a soft bleating in the front yard.

I groan. “I can’t believe you got me to agree to let the goats come with you.”

“Just the one!”

I get up and head to the window to survey the damage this one goat is clearly causing. “ _ That’s _ the goat you picked?”

“What? I like him!”

“He headbutts you every time you see him, how could you possibly like him?”

**SIMON**

I get out of bed, and curl up behind Baz. “Well, he does remind me of someone,” I whisper in his ear.

Baz scoffs, “I am nothing like that stinky goat.”

“Um…” I trail off. Baz spins around.

“Tell me I’m nothing like that stinky goat!”

I laugh and put my hands up in the air. “Baz! You kidnapped me! You locked me in a dungeon! You threatened to starve me!”

“But I let you put butter on Cook Pritchard’s sour cherry scones. The same sour cherry scones that-”

“That earned Sir Kenneth Pritchard III a knighthood. I remember.”

“A complete abomination, if you ask me. Putting that much butter on a sour cherry scone. Absolutely disgusting.” He lets me pull him back into bed, where we resume our cuddling.

“Mmhmm. Ask me again to tell you you’re nothing like that goat.”

He hums into my ear. “Well, at least I don’t stink like a goat.”

“No, that you do not.” I dig my nose into his hair and inhale. Cedar, bergamot and Baz. “You smell heavenly. But not as good as sour cherry scones.  _ With _ butter.”

“You total and utter disaster of a man. Why do I love you?”

“I don’t know, but you do.”

“All right. I do. Butter, goats, and all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. I missed an opportunity to have Baz and Simon dance to “Tale as Old as Time.” There was a version in my head, where they’re just about to kiss when Penny turns that song on her iPhone. But I felt it was more important to share what I’ve written. Ebb being rescued and accepting Simon for who he is. Simon and Baz playfully fighting over this goat that represents why Simon fell for Baz in the first place. 
> 
> I hope you’re not too disappointed in how I deviated from the Beauty and the Beast plot. Oh well! I could sit around all day regretting the things I didn’t do (Baz-style) or I can post this fic as is and let the chips fall where they may (Snow-style). At least, I’m certainly thrilled with how it all worked out.
> 
> But, if you didn’t laugh at all, feel free to request a refund in the comments.
> 
> Potential future fics: Baz gets Simon a sword and Simon gets Baz a cape (an O Henry rip off). Simon and Baz finally dance in the ballroom. Penny and Shephard talk the logistics of being a feather duster with allergies. Fiona scares the goats away and Ebb has to find them. Malcolm can't stop sniffing feet. Daphne never drinks tea again. We finally discover once and for all whether the former coat rack is Howard or Martin. I dunno. Vote in the comments.


End file.
